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Apollo Gallery— St. Cloud. 



P AE I S 

d^^ J BY 

SOTLIGHT km GASLIGHT. 

A WORK DESCRIPTITE 



MYSTERIES AND MISERIES, THE VIRTUES, 

THE VICES, THE SPLENDORS, AND THE 

CRIMES OF THE CITY OF PARIS. 



BY JAMES D. McCABE, Jr. 

AUTHOR OF " THE AID-DE-CiVMP," " PLANTING THE WILDEENESS," " THE GREAT REPUBLIC," ETC., ETC. 



ILLUSTRATED WITH OVER 150 FINE ENGRAVINGS. 

By GUSTAVE DORE, a. DI; bar, FICHOT, HUBERT CLERGET, LANCELOT THEROND, 
ly-y AND OTHER CELEBRATED ARTISTS OF FRANCE. 



r-f 



Issued by subscription only, and not for Bale in tbe book stores. Residents of nny State desiring 
a copy should address the publishers, and an agent will call upon them. 



y 

NATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY, 

PHILADELPHIA, PA.; CHICAGO, ILL.; CINCINNATI, 0.; ST. LOUIS, MO. ; 
BOSTON, MASS. ; AND ATLANTA, GA. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 

J. R. JONES, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern 
District of Pennsylvania. 



:yj 



PREFACE. 



" Good Americans go to Paris when they die," says a 
witty writer ; and it may be added that a great many, 
both good and bad, manage to get there in the flesh ; 
but all these constitute a very small portion of the im- 
mense number of our countrymen who would like to 
go if they could, but who will never see the beautiful 
city. For their benefit I have written these pages, 
that they may have some opportunity, at least, of 
forming a correct idea of the city which holds so 
prominent a place in the world. I have tried to draw 
the picture fairly, to describe Paris as I saw it, and 
where I have been unable to write from my own ex- 
perience, J have drawn upon other writers, credit 
being given in each case for the assistance thus 
obtained. 

This great city, so wonderful in its beauty, so 
strange to eyes which 'have looked only upon the 
new world, is perhaps the most attractive of all the 
" sights " of Europe. Its magnificence is unparalleled, 
its contrasts are the most striking, for nowhere else 
do you see such lavish displays of wealth, such hideous 

15 



16 PREFACE. 

depths of poverty. Its historic associations are fascinat- 
ing beyond expression, and the charm is heightened 
by the beauty of those marvellous, time-hallowed 
monuments of the past by which you are surrounded. 
You cannot move a step without seeing some grand 
work of art, or some spot made famous by the great or 
terrible deeds which it witnessed, for Paris is not only 
the city of beauty and luxury, but also the chosen seat 
of romance, of mystery, and, alas, of crime. Coming 
fresh from the new world, where everything is yet 
plain and practical, you are plunged suddenly into the 
midst of romance, beauty, gayety, and a thousaild 
wonders, which fairly bewilder you. You pass so 
rapidly from the bright, merry life of the Paris of to- 
day, to the crumbling, mysterious monuments of the 
Paris of centuries ago, that you seem to be living in 
two different ages of the world; and then to come 
suddenly out of some palace in whose gorgeous halls 
kings have revelled, into some dirty, dark quarter 
where bitter poverty stares you in the face at every 
step, and appalls you with its terrors, is a change 
sufficiently marked to make any man doubt the 
evidence of his senses. 

Everything in Paris is so strange to an American, 
so attractive to a lover of the beautiful and wonderful, 
that it is easy to understand why so many of our 
countrymen fall victims to the fascinations and 
temptations which surround them, and which I have 
endeavored to depict in these pages. By day and by 
night the beauty and luxury of the bright city enchant 



PREFACE. 1 7 

you, and, yielding yourself to these influences, you 
soon enter upon an existence compared to which your 
old life in your far off home, seems cold and hard. It 
has been my effort to bring these pleasures home to 
my reader, as he sits by his own fire-side, with the 
broad ocean between him and the scenes described, 
and to enable him to enjoy them without either the 
fatigue or expense demanded of an active participant 
in them. 

Paris is so different by day and by night, that I 
have deemed it best to present it to my readers in two 
distinct aspects ; and wishing to make the view com- 
plete, I have added a brief glance at the most prominent 
suburban attractions which constitute the beautiful 
" side shows " of the great panorama of Paris. 

I hesitated for some time before venturing to touch 
upon the subject of immorality in Paris ; but to write 
of that city without discussing the " Social Evil," which 
nowhere pervades all grades of society to such an ex- 
tent as in Paris, would be to leave my work un- 
finished. Therefore, I have endeavored to state the 
case as fairly as possible, to show how the fearful taint 
pervades all classes of French society, to present to 
the reader some of the most prominent forms in which 
licentiousness exhibits itself in public, and to show 
how parents expose their children, and husbands their 
wives, to dangerous contact with this vice. 

The city is full of " strange sights and sounds," and 
its streets are thronged with queer people, such as are 
never seen in our own land, but which remain indelibly 



18 PREFACE. 

stamped upon the visitor's memory. It is hoped that 
these pages will enable the reader to understand and 
appreciate them, for there is no city in which he who 
loves beauty and romance can find such a rich treat as 
in Paris, 

These things I saw with American eyes, and if the 
view I have given is not as thoroughly French as the 
lovers of the gay city could wish, this must be my 
reason for writing as I have; for Paris is not all 
beauty, all pleasure. It has some ugly defects, some 
hideous wrinkles, to which I could not shut my eyes. 

Those who have seen the city will, I feel sure, con- 
firm the statements contained herein, and will acknowl- 
edge the truthfulness of the picture I have drawn, 
whatever they may think of the manner in which the 
work is done ; and I trust they may find themselves 
repaid for their trouble in perusing these pages, by 
being assisted by them to recall the many pleasures 
which they will testify can be enjoyed only in Paris 
by Sunlight and Gaslight. 

J. D. McC, Jr. 

New York, Dec 25, 1869. 



CONTENTS 



INTRODUCTOKT. 



33; 



PAEIS BY SUITLIGHT. 



THE CITY OF PARIS, 

I, Historical, 

II. Statistical, . . . . 

II. 
MORNING IN PARIS, 

III. 

FRENCH COOKERY, 

I. The Cafes, .... 
II. The Restaurants, 

III. Tables d'hStes, . 

IV. Soup Houses and Cremeries, 
y. The Cheapest of all, 

VI. The " SPECIALITY) de Pumpkin Pie," 



53 

53 
63 



66 



70^ 

TO' 
IS 
83 
84 
85 
89 



19 



20 CONTENTS. 

lY. 

PARISIAN DRINKS, ... 92 

I. Popular Beverages, .92 

II. A Glass op Absinthe, 96 

V. 

THE STREETS OF PARIS, . . 103 

I. The Streets, 103 

II. The Boulevards, . . . . . . . Ill 

III. Passages and Cites, . . . . . . 114 

YI. 

PUBLIC PLACES AND FOUNTAINS, . 116 

I. Places and Squares, 116 

II. Fountains, Monuments, and Statues, . . . 132 

YII. 
ALONG THE SEINE, ... .138 

YIIL 
THE MORGUE, . . . .152 

IX. 

PARISIAN HOTELS, . . .158 

STREET TRAVELLING^ . . .164 

I. The Cabs, 164 

II. The Omnibuses, 16T 

XI. 

THE GARDENS OF THE TUILERIES, . 171 



CONTENTS. 


21 


XII. 




PLACE DE GREYE, . 


. 179 


XIII. 




THE CITE, 


. 189 


XIV. 




THE PALAIS ROYAL, . 


. 194 


XV. 




THE SCHOOLS, . 


. 203 


I. The Latin Quarter, .... 


. 203 


II The Schools, 


. • .206 



XVI. 
STUDENTS AND STUDENT LIFE, . 231 



XVII. 

THE PARKS OF PARIS, 

I. The Bois de Boulogne, . 

11. The Champs Elysees, 
III. The Park op Monceaux, 
IV. The Buttes Chaumont, . 

V. The Bois de Vincennes, , 



246 
246 
252 
25 1 
261 
265 



XVIIL 
ADVENTURERS, 



269 



XIX. 
THE HOTEL DE VILLE, 



283 



XX. 

THE TUILERIES, 



296 



22 



CONTENTS. 



XXI. 

THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS, 

I. The Jardin Zoologique D'Acclimatation, 
II. The Jardin des Plantes, 



333 

333 
336 



XXII. 

THE LOUYRE, 

I, Historical, 
11. Descriptive, 

III. The Museums oe Sculpture, 

IV. The Picture Galleries, , 
Y. The Museum op Sovereigns, 

YI. The Marine Museum, 



342 

342 
348 
350 
356 
36t 
3t5 



XXIII. 

THE LUXEMBOURG, 

I. The Palace, 

II. The State Apartments, 
[II. The Picture Galleries, 
lY. The Gardens, . 

Y. The Observatory, . 



3n 

3tT 
380 
383 
389 
893 



XXIY. 

THE PALACES, . 



391 



XXY. 

THE IMPERIAL FAMILY, 

I. The Emperor Napoleon the Third, 
II. The Empress Eugenie, .... 
III. The Prince Imperial, .... 



410 

410 
423 
432 



CONTENTS. 23 

XXVI. 

OLD RELICS, . . . .439 

I. Historical Mansions, 439 

II. Saint-Jacques La Boucherijj, 442 

III, The Hotel de Cluny, 444 

XXVII. 

NOTRE DAME DE PARIS, . . 453 

I. Historical, 453 

II. Descriptive, . 456 

III. A Te Deum, ......... 465 

XXVIII. 

BOHEMIAN LIFE, . . . 4t0 

XXIX. 

PARISIAN CHURCHES, . . 481 

XXX. 

THE GOBELINS, . . 496 

XXXI. 

THE PONT NEUE, . . 502 

XXXII. 

MONEY CENTRES, . . .511 

I. The Mint, . . . 511 

II. The Bank op France, 512 

III. The Bourse, 514 

XXXIII. 

PARISIAN SPORTS, . . .518 

XXXIV. 

LIBRARIES, . . . .627 



24 CONTENTS. 

xxxy. 

THE PALAIS DE JUSTICE, . . 532 

XXXVI. 
PARISIAN JUSTICE, . . .538 

* XXXYII. 

THE MUNICIPAL GOYERNMENT, . 544 

I. The Prefecture op the Seine, .... 544 

II. The Police, 541 

XXXVIII. 

THE PRISONS OF PARIS, . 562 

] The Prisons, ' . 562 

II. Public Executions, . . ' 564 

XXXIX. 

INDUSTRIAL COLLECTIONS, . . 511 

I. The Palace op Industry, 571 

II. The Museum op Artillery, 572 

III. The Conservatoire des Arts et Metiers, . . 577 

XL. 

THE INVALIDES, . . .579 

I. The Hospital, 579 

II. Military Mass, 583 

III. The Emperor's Tomb, 587 

XLI. 

THE POOR OF PARIS, . . .591 

I. The Children op Poverty, ..... 591 

II. The Mont de Pu^te, 596 

XLIL 

TRICKS OF THE TRADE, . 601 



CONTENTS. 25 

XLIII. 
THE MARKETS, . . .608 

XLIY. 

CHARITABLE INSTITUTIONS, . . 618 

I. The Hospitals, . . . .♦ . . . . 618 

II. The Foundling Hospital, . ... . . 624 

XLY. 

THE CHAMPS DE MARS, . . 630 

XL VI. 

PARIS UNDERGROUND, . . 634 

I. The Sewers, 634 

II. The Catacombs, 63t 

XLYII. 

DEAD PARIS, . . . .648 

I. The Cemeteries, 643 

II. The Common Ditches, 648 

HI. Funeral Pomps, 651 

XLYIII. 
FRENCH HOUSES, . . .653 



:e'Jl.:rt xx. 
PARIS BY GASLIGHT. 

I. 

PARIS BY NIGHT. . . .661 



26 CONTENTS. 



II. 

PARISIAN THEATRES, . . .667 

III. 
MINOR AMUSEMENTS, . . .6^0 

IV. 

THE SOCIAL PLAGUE SPOT, . . 681 

V. 

CONCERTS, . . . .690 

YI. 

MABILLE, . . . 696 

.. VII. 
THE CASINO, ... 706 

VIIL 
THE CLOSERIE DES LILAS, . . T08 

IX. 

THE DEMI-MONDE, . . . TU 

X. 

THE CHIFFONNIERS, . . . T3I 

XI. 

THE CARNIVAL, . . . T39 



CONTENTS. 27 



:p.A.I^T III. 
SIDE SHOWS. 

I. 

VERSAILLES, U1 

I. The Palace, t41 

II. The Gardens, . '762 

III. The Trianons, 164 

IL 

SEVRES, . . . . 7tO 

• III. 

SAINT CLOUD, . . . .715 

lY. 

SAINT GERMAIN, . . .785 

V. 

MALMAISON, . . . .789 

VI. 

SAINT DENIS, . . ' . .794 

YII. 

FONTAINEBLEAU, . . .796 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Bird's-eye View of the Louvre Frontispiece- 

Apollo Gallery— St. Cloud •' 

A Fashionable Street in Paris page 54 

Boulevard du Temple, showing the Theatres 68 

Interior of a first-class Cafe 73 

Interior of a Parisian Billiard-Room 97 

Boulevard Montmartre , 102 

A Street of Old Paris. Demolished in 1862 105 

Rue de la Paix 109 

Boulevard Richard Lenoir 1 13 

Boulevard Sebastopol, on the south side of the Seine 114 

Place de la Concorde 117 

Place de la Bastille 122 

Place VendSme and Napoleon Column 124 

The Arch of Triumph 125 

Place du Carrousel 128 

The Chatelet Fountain 180 

The Artesian Well at Crenelle 133 

Fontaine Saint Michel 135 

Porte St. Denis 137 

Pont au Change, showing the Theatres on the North Side 141 

Pont des Arts, showing the Louvre and the Tuileries 146 

Deligny's Swimming School 149 

The Baths of the Samai'itaine 151 

The Grand Hfitel 158 

Dining Room of the Grand Plotel 162 

Parisian Carriages 165 

The Gardens of the Tuileries 173 

The Palace of the Tribunal of Commerce 188 

Place du Palais Royal. Showing the Palace and the Louvre 195 

Gardens of the Palais Royal 200 

Palace of the Institute of France 207 

The College of France 211 

29 



30 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGE 



'I'he Law School 222 

The Medical School 224 

The Lyc6e Napoleon 228 

The Lake in the Bois de Boulogne 247 

Gardens of the Champs Elysees 253 

Grand Avenue of the Champs Elysees 256 

Park of Monceaux 259 

Park of the Buttes Chaumont 263 

Castle of Yincennes 267 

H6tel de Ville 282 

Ball Room of the H8tel de Ville 294 

New Pavilion of Flora Tuileries 308 

Palace of the Tuileries 314 

The Great Hot-House in the Garden of Acclimatation '. . 332 

Cages of Wild Animals. 336 

Aquatic Birds 336 

Aviary , 337 

Sheep House 337 

The Elephant House 338 

Amphitheatre 338 

The Bear Pit 339 

Monkey Cage 339 

The Old Louvre : Showing the Western Wing 345 

Gallery of Ancient Sculptures 351 

The Apollo Gallery '. 356 

The Louvre Gallery 358 

Egyptian Museum 363 

The Chamber of Henry IV. (Museum of Sovereigns.) 366 

Hall of the Estates 370 

Palace and Gardens of the Luxembourg 376 

Hall of the Senate 381 

The Great Gallery of the Luxembourg 385 

Observatory 393 

Palace of the Corps L6gislatif 396 

Palace of the Legion of Honor 400 

Ministry of Foreign Affairs 406 

Hotel de Sens 440 

Pompeien Villa 441 

Rue de Rivoli, as seen from the Tower of St. Jacques 442 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 31 

PAGE 

Hotel de CI any 445 

Interior of tlie Hotel de Cluny 447 

Cathedral of Notre Dame. Front View 452 

Interior of Notre Dame 467 

Notre Dame — from the Archbishop's Bridge 468 

Saint-Geuevieve. (The Pantheon.) 480 

Interior of Sainte-Genevieve 482 

Interior of Saint Etienne du Mont 486 

The Madeleine 489 

Interior of The Madeleine 491 

Saint Eustache , 494 

Weaving the Gobelin Tapestries 499 

Pont Neuf. 503 

The Mint 511 

Bank of France 513 

The Bourse 514 

Interior of the Bourse 516 

The Longchamp Races 519 

Boat Race at Asniferes 525 

Imperial Library 529 

Palace of Justice 532 

''i'he Conciergerie - . 535 

Maj'oraltji- of the Second Arrondissement 545 

Mazas Prison 562 

Prison of Sainte-P61agie .' 563 

Palace of Industry 570 

Museum of Artillery 573 

Conservatoire des Arts et Metiers. Machinery Hall 576 

'I'he Invalides — From the Esplanade 579 

Dome of the Invalides. 585 

The Emperor's Tomb 589 

Halles Centrales 608 

Interior of the Halles Centrales 611 

Flower Market 613 

Bird Market 615 

Tattersall. 616 

Hospital of La Pitie 618 

H6tel Dieu ' 620 

Asylum of Vincennes 622 



32 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGJ! 

Hospital of Bicgtre 625 

Interior of a Foundling Asylum 628 

Barracks of the Military School 630 

Napoleon Barracks 632 

Subterranean Paris 635 

The Great Sewer 636 

The Catacombs 639 

Cemetery of Montmartre - 643 

Cemetery of Pfere la Chaise 645 

Yestibule of the New Opera 661 

The New Opera 666 

Grand Op6ra 668 

Theatre Frangais 674 

Circus 676 

Champ Elys6es Concert 690 

Caf6 Concert •• v 691 

Entrance to Mabille 696 

Ball at Mabille 700 

Scene at the Casino 706 

Closerie des Lilas 708 

Scene at the Closerie des Lilas 711 

Street scene during the Carnival '. 738 

Depot of the Western Kailway 747 

Bird's-eye View of the Palace and Park of Versailles.. . ■. 747 

Palace of Versailles. View from the Terrace 751 

Bed-Chamber of Louis XIV 758 

Salle de l'(Eil-de-Bceuf 760 

Basin of Neptune — Versailles 762 

Grand Trianon • • • • ''65 

Marie Antoinette's Boudoir. Little Trianon 768 

Sfevres Porcelain Factory 770 

Port Marly "^"'^ 

Palace of St. Cloud 775 

Park and Grand Cascade of Saint Cloud 779 

Chateau de Saint Germain 784 

Malmaison ''SB 

Interior of the Church of St. Denis 794 

Fontainebleau. The Fountain Court 796 

'J'he Gardens at Fontainebleau 800 

Forest of Fontainebleau 801 



PAKIS 

BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



n^TEODUOTOET. 



Should you ever go to Paris, reader of these pages, there 
is one part of your experience which you are not likely to 
forget, and that is the journey from England to the Continent. 
Some persons escape it altogether by taking the French 
steamer from New York, and landing at Brest, thus avoiding 
the sail in the English Channel ; but the majority, in fact 
ninety-nine out of a hundred, never see the Continent with- 
out first passing through the tortures of the Channel. 

In going from England to France, one has the choice of 
several routes, all, however, requiring him to spend more or 
less time on the terrible Channel. 

First of all there are the boats of the General Steam 
Navigation Company, which, starting from London Bridge 
early in the morning, reach Boulogne in ten hours, and 
Paris in sixteen hours. The first six hours of this voyage 
are pleasant enough, as they are passed in sailing down old 
'• Father Thames " as f\xr as the North Foreland, and through 
the Downs. The rest of the passage, however, is simply 
frightful. The boats are dirty, close, and terribly lacking in 
accommodations. The cargo frequently intrudes upon those 
portions of the vessel, which are supposed to be reserved for 
3 (33) 



34 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

passengers, and oftentimes there is scarcely room to stand, 
far less to move, about the decks. These boats, however. 
are rarely patronized by any but those endeavoring to practice 
economy, or whose means will not allow them to adopt a 
more comfortable mode of transit. The fare is lower than 
by any other line, being about twenty-five shillings, English 
money, for cabin passengers. There are also steamer lines 
from London to Dunkirk and from Southampton (which is 
reached by rail from London) to Havre. They are all dis- 
agreeable, and not to be thought of by those who are free to 
choose one of the lines now to be named. 

The best and most popular routes are three in number, 
viz. : by way of Newhaven and Dieppe,- by Folkstone and 
Boulogne, and by Dover and Calais. 

By ' Neioliaven and Dieppe. Trains for Newhaven leave 
London Bridge and Yictoria Station twice a day. At New- 
haven, which is two and a half hours ride from the Metropolis, 
the traveller is transferred to a line of wretched steamers, 
and condemned to six hours of misery in crossing the Channel. 
He is then landed, half dead, at Dieppe, a famous French 
watering-place., and can reach Paris in four and a half hours 
by the express train, which leaves on the arrival of the boat. 
The total time between London and Paris by this line, is 
from eighteen to twenty-four hours, and the fare for first-class 
passengers, is thirty English shillings. 

By Folkstone and Boulogne. The little town of Folkstone 
lies twelve miles southwest of Dover, and is reached in about 
two hours from London, by rail. The trains leave London 
Bridge and Charing Cross Stations both morning and even- 
ing, and should the traveller feel inclined to break the journey 
at Folkstone, he will find several excellent hotels, there for 
his accommodation. The Channel passage by this route is 
made m about two hours, the distance being only twenty- 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. OO 

seven miles. The boats are the largest and best plying 
between France and England, and afltbrd many comforts 
which are unknown on the others ; though to one accustomed 
to American Steamers, they are wretched enough. From 
Boulogne it is a five hours ride to Paris, so that the whole 
journey between the two Capitals can be made in ten or 
twelve hours. 

Being always more or less subject to sea-sickness, I chose 
the part of prudence, and selected the route hy ivay oj% 
Dover and Calais, which, although the most expensive, has 
the atoning merit of requiring the shortest Channel passage. 

It was a lovely August morning when the porter roused 
me from .my heavy slumbers by his vigorous raps at my 
door. I had gone to bed on the previous night footsore and 
weary, for I had spent the day in wandering over the rough 
London streets, through the beautiful old Abbey and the 
gorgeous Parliament Houses, and had lingered late into the 
night at my window, which, perched high over the neighbor- 
ing chimney tops, looked down on the lines of lights stretch- 
ing away from Trafalgar Square to Westminster and the 
Thames, and fading in the distance back of old Lambeth 
Palace. Below me, the gloomy outline of Northumberland 
House blackened against the night, and down Whitehall I 
could dimly make out the spot where the " Eoyal Martyr " 
met a death more worthy than his life had been. Far in the 
distance the faint shadow of the old Abbe}^ rose softly through 
the mist, and over the darkness and the roar of the city came 
floating to me the sweet music of its silvery chimes, which, 
dying away, mingled their last faint cadences with the hoarse 
clangor of the Parliament bells. In the back-ground the 
double row of lamps shone brightly on Westminster Bridge, 
and glittering down the long line of the Thames, multiplied 
themselves in its broad bosom, which gleamed like a sheet of 



36 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHl. 

glass, its hideous filth concealed from my view by the kind 
mantle of the night, I stood long watching this wonderful 
sio-ht, and when I sought my bed it was to dream of it. 

The porter's raps dispelled these dreams, however, and his 
very nn-English voice informed me that if I wished to take 
the morning train for the Continent, I had no time to lose. 
Instantly the Parliament clock confirmed his statement by 
ringing out half-past six — and the train started at half-past 
seven. 

I had arranged for breakfast before leaving the hotel, and 
T got what I verily believe to have been the scraps saved 
from the dinner of the previous evening. The table was 
dirty, the cloth dirtier. The waiters had evidently passed 
the night in their clothes, and had not yet performed their 
morning ablutions. I swallowed as much as I could, paid my 
bill, and left the Charing Cross Hotel Avith a feeling of devout 
thankfulness that I was not compelled to remain there longer. 

Emerging from the hotel upon a broad platform, seamed 
with a dozen lines of rails, and covered with an immense 
arched roof of iron and glass, I found myself in the Charing 
Cross station. My baggage awaited me in charge of an 
obliging porter. Being informed that by having it "regis- 
tered" I would avoid trouble and detention at the Custom 
House in Calais, I paid sixpence for a ticket containing 
my name and a printed number, and saw a corresponding 
ticket pasted on the end of my trunk, which, after being duly 
weighed, was placed in the luggage van. Then, following 
the porter, whose politeness cost me a shilling, I seated my- 
self in a dirty box called by courtesy a " first-class compart- 
ment." It was divided into six seats, three on a row at each 
end, with a door like that of an American hack on each side. 
Each door contained a sliding window, above which was an 
arrangement of slats for ventilating the compartment. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 37 

I was travelling in company with a friend, and being the 
first in the coach we promptly secured the most eligible seats. 
Then entered our only travelling companions, a tall, fine- 
looking Englishman and his wife, the latter unusually pretty 
and dainty for an Englishwoman. The man was a curiosity, 
a full blown, genuine cockney. Through the whole ride he 
was insufferably rude to "the savage Americans," as he 
seemed to consider my friend and myself, so that I could not 
resist a feeling of malicious satisfaction as I saw him, when 
about half way over the Channel, stretched out on the deck, 
with his head in his nice little wife's lap, and a basin, pretty 
well filled, close at hand, 

A vixenish little screech from the queer locomotive, and 
we were whirling out of the station and crossing Hungerford 
bridge. The next minute we were dashing atfull speed over 
the tops of the houses, at an elevation sufficient to enable me 
to look down into the quaint old chimney-pots as we whizzed 
by them. Then pausing under a shed, we took up the coaches 
waiting for us at the London Bridge station, and again crossed 
the Thames and drew up in the huge Cannon street station, 
having made a circuit of three miles from Charing Cross. 
It was the work of a minute to connect the coaches waiting 
for us here, to recross the river, and commence in earnest the 
journey to Dover. 

In a quarter of an hour we were out of the city, and were 
skirting the barren fields which extend along its south-eastern 
border. Then, the scene suddenly changed and we swept 
into the hop fields of Kent, as pretty a rural district as Eng- 
land can boast. The farm houses were the very embodiment 
of comfort, and the farms themselves in the most thriving 
condition. 

A ride of nearly two hours brought us to the hilly region 
bordering the Channel. To our left on a neighboring height 



38 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

were the remains of an old earthwork of considerable size, 
once a Roman fort, and now known as Caesar's Castle. The 
chalky nature of the land here made itself quite evident, and 
the fertile patches which had so aroused my admiration be- 
came fewer and farther between. Suddenly we shot into a 
long tvinnel, and all was darkness. When we emerged into 
the open air again the " white cliffs of Albion," were on every 
side of us, and at our feet the waves of the English Channel 
were dancing in the sunlight. The train paused at the ex- 
tremity of the magnificent stone pier, and the guard, unlock- 
ing the door of our compartment, permitted us to descend. 
We passed down the wooden stairway, through a double line 
of policemen and officials belonging -to the railway and the 
British customs, and went on board the steamboat. 

When I bought my ticket, I was told that the Channel 
boats were " new and magnificent steamers," and I expected 
to see a craft which would at least afford some justification 
of this description. "New" the boat may have been, but 
" magnificent" it was not. Imagine a craft similar to the 
sidewheel tow-boat used in the Atlantic harbors and rivers 
of the United States, and you will have a very fair idea of 
the magnificence of the boat on which I now found myself. 
It was long, narrow, and lay low upon the wat-er. There 
was no cabin or shelter of any kind on deck, and but a 
miserable, cramped hole below, too close and hot for mortal 
man to exist in. The bulwarks were low and afforded no 
protection against the waves and spray, which in rough 
weather, or even during a heavy swell, drench the decks from 
stem to stern. The whole craft was dirty, close, and nasty. 
And yet it was a first-class steamer, the majority of whose 
passengers were the most favored classes of Europe — Dukes, 
Marquisses, Earls, Counts, and their families — men and women 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 39 

of the best walks in life, who seemed to think this abominable 
little craft the very perfection of naval architecture. 

I turned from the boat in disgust, and by the aid of mv 
glasses obtained a fine view of the town to our left, and the 
grim old castle with its outworks, and the formidable system 
of defenses on the heights above us. To our right rose up 
the hideous cliff which Shakspeare has immortalized in 
King Lear. The town lies in a valley close to the shore, and 
is enclosed by an amphitheatre of hills, of a white, chalky ap- 
pearance. The population is between twenty-five thousand 
and thirty thousand. The houses are built chiefly of a light 
colored stone, and are quite handsome and attractive. 

While I was engaged in studying the scene before me, our 
steamer suddenly cast off' her moorings, and shot out from 
the smooth water behind the pier into the blue water beyond. 
Instantly a change came over the boat and all on board. I 
had often heard of the "chops of the channel," but had no idea 
of them as they really are. The motion of a steamer in these 
waters is most peculiar and utterly indescribable. It seems 
as if every part of the vessel is trying to get into the air at 
the same moment. Imagine yourself tossed in a carpet, 
shaken b}^ a dozen stout men, no two of whom shake it at 
the same instant, and you will have a very fair idea of the 
motion one experiences on the " magnificent " steamers ply- 
ing between Dover and Calais. 

By the rules of the boat all first-class passengers must stay 
abaft the wheel, for these are side- wheel steamers. The 
second and third class are placed forward. As regards ac- 
commodations, they fare alike. A row of wooden benches 
lines the bulwarks, on which those who do not care to throw 
themselves on the hatches or lie along the deck, seat them- 
selves very much after the manner of passengers in the New 
York ferry boats. As the steamer leaves the pier, the sailors 



40 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

bring around tarpaulins with which they cover the sitters 
from their waists down, and for which little attention each 
passenger is expected to pay one shilling. The next care of 
these brave salts is to furnish each passenger with a china 
bowl, the very sight of which is calculated to disturb one's 
stomach. If there are not bowls enough to go round, china 
vessels of a different pattern, and usually kept out of sight 
amongst decent people, are passed about with the utmost sang 
froid. Then commences the interest of the trip. 

There are commonly several hundred persons on each boat 
during the summer season, and the first victim of the Channel 
usually commands universal attention. Pity, sympathy, 
terror and disgust are plainly depicted on every countenance, 
and the thought uttermost in the mind of each is " who will 
be the next," each one dreading the fate he knows to be 
inevitable. When half way over " the groans of the Britons " 
arise in one grand chorus, and the activity of the sailors is taxed 
to the utmost extent in emptying the bowls, which have 
a habit of not remaining empty. Sometimes an unfortunate 
sailor, emptying his bowl on the windward side of the ship, 
causes a shower of true British bile to drench the unfortunate 
passengers, and calls down upon himself a score of curses in 
the pure vernacular. Crash, comes a wave against the side 
or over the bow, and the landsmen are soaked to the skin. 
The South Eastern Eailway Company, who own the boats, 
do not regard the convenience of their passengers as worthy 
of consideration, but deal out to them unsparingly the greatest 
amount of discomfort of all kinds at the highest prices. 

" You don't have such boats as this in America ?" said an 
Englishman, standing at my elbow, 

" No, thank Heaven, we do not," I answered. 

He looked at me hard for a moment, and then turned 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 41 

away, and when I saw him again he was leaning over the 
side, cordially endorsing my opinion of the boat. 

Fortunately the passage from Dover to Calais occupies but 
one hour and twenty minutes. Out of the three hundred pas- 
sengers who crossed with me, scarcely a dozen escaped sea- 
sickness. The imaginative reader can picture to himself the 
beauties of the scene, with nearly three hundred people, 
ranged in long, close rows, each engaged in filling his bowl. 

Profiting by my former experience at sea, I put my aristo- 
cratic feelings in my pocket, and stationed myself amidships, 
half-way between the first-class and the steerage. Here I ob- 
tained the full benefit of the fresh sea breeze, and an occa- 
sional dash of spray in my face was most grateful to me. I 
had the good fortune to escape the fate of my companions, 
and had no use for the bowl. 

The day was bright and beautiful, but a light haze over- 
hung the French coast, and hid it from our view. I watched 
the white cliffs of England grow fainter and fainter, and as 
they melted away, the coast of France became more and more 
distinct. Soon the white lighthouse at Calais rose boldly 
before us, whiter even than the snowy sails that crowded the 
Straits of Dover, and in a little more than half an hour we 
shot by the end of the long- wooden pier, under the walls of 
the grim fort that frowned at us with its rows of black guns, 
and glided peacefully through the port of Calais, and made 
fast to our landing pier. 

The town lay before us, surrounded with its venerable- 
looking wall, pierced with a hideous gateway, the work of 
the great Eichelieu. The harbor was full of queer fishing 
smacks, and odd-looking steamers ; and the pier was lined 
with fishwomen in their short red petticoats, gray stockings, 
and coarse gowns ; and theatrical sailors with high boots, and 
frocks like their Avives' petticoats. Soldiers, on duty and 



42 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

o£f duty, were scattered about the pier ; and, at every step, 
an officer of the Customs stared you out of countenance. Aa 
Hre passed ashore our tickets were claimed, and we were 
directed towards the railway station, which stands at a short 
distance from the pier where we landed. 

Thanks to my having registered my luggage, it was con- 
veyed ashore and put on the train without charge or trouble 
to me, and without being opened by the Customs officers — all 
registered baggage being examined only at the end of the 
journey. 

I secured my seat in the coach, and strolled over to the 
restaurant, or buffet, to obtain breakfast, for my London meal 
had left me very hungry. The room was large and taste- 
fully fitted up. A row of small round tables ran along each 
side, with a third row in the middle. The lunch counters 
were loaded with the most tempting viands, and everything 
was clean and fresh and appetizing. The linen was snowy 
white, and the silver was resplendent. My time was limited, 
and I made several efforts to secure a waiter by calling him. 
Failing in this, I seized a nervous-looking gar9on as he passed 
me, and in bad French shouted my order in his ear. He 
looked at me with a dismayed expression, and dashed off like 
a madman. I made sure that I would get no breakfast from 
him, and was on the point of assaulting another waiter, when 
he rushed back as furiously as he had left fiie, bearing the 
viands I had sent him for. It was a delightful meal, too, 
and the wine was very good. I ate heartily, enjoyed every- 
thing, and paid only a franc and a half (thirty cents, American 
money,) for the whole of it. If ever you go to Calais, reader, 
try the buffet in the depot. It is one of the best in France, 
and very cheap. 

The whistle of the locomotive warned me that the time of 
my departure was at hand, and I hastened back to the car to 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 43 

claim my seat. The guard banged the door after me, and 
seizing a small hand-bell from a neighboring bench, rang it 
vigorouslj. This, I found, was the signal to the engine 
driver to start the train — European nations having not yet 
reached that high state of civilization which requires the use 
of a bell cord on the railroad trains. 

Travellers on the French railways cannot fail to be im- 
pressed with the excellent discipline which prevails in every 
department. The utmost care is taken to ensure perfect regu- 
larity and accuracy in the minutest detail, and so rigidly is 
an exact performance of duty required of every employee, 
that it seems strange that accidents should ever occur. The 
road beds are built with great care, and are so well ballasted 
with broken stones, that they appear as firm as the solid rock 
itself. Thanks to the excellent manner in which the track is 
laid, it is always possible to maintain a higher rate of speed 
than upon our own roads; and there is an almost entire 
freedom from the terrible catastrophies which annually de- 
crease the number of railroad travellers in our own country. 
The American railway managers have much to learn from 
their European brethren. Great pains are taken to keep the 
track clear of persons and animals. Every road crossing, 
every deep cut or tunnel, every bridge and viaduct, is care- 
fully watched. This duty on many of the French roads is 
performed by women, who are found to answer quite as well 
as men. You see them as the train whizzes by their posts, 
standing in front of their little houses with their furled flags 
in the right hand, and the left thrown across the breast to the 
right shoulder, in the position of a soldier's salute wheB 
standing with " ordered arms." They wear a short petticoat, 
a long cape of dark blue cloth, and a glazed sailor hat 
with the name of the road in gilt letters on the front ; and 
altogether have a very soldier-like appearance, besides fur- 



44 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

nishi'ng an excellent argument to the friends of women's 
rights. 

The carriages are great improvements on the English 
coaches. They are scrupulously clean, and are always neatly 
and oftentimes handsomely fitted up. They hold eight per- 
sons, affording an abundance of room for each and all. 

Of late years there has been a growing demand for some 
simple and ready means of communication between the 
coaches and the guard's van. I was much amused at the sys- 
tem which has been recently adopted by the Northern Eail- 
way Company. Between every two compartments there is a 
triangular bos covered with glass on each side. Within this 
box is a small cord, attached to a metal ring at its lower end, 
the remainder of the cord passing up to the roof of the car- 
riage. Over this little box is a printed card informing travel- 
lers that the cord thus enclosed communicates with an elec- 
trical apparatus in the guard's van. By seizing the ring 
and jerking the cord an alarm is sounded with this machine. 
Passengers in trouble or in danger are requested to hreak the 
glass plate with their elbows^ and pull the cord; but severe 
penalties are threatened against those who needlessly stop 
the train. This is certainly better than having no alarm at 
all, but the system is still very defective. Few persons taken 
suddenly ill, or assaulted by a robber, or attacked by an 
assassin — and crimes have become frightfully common of late 
in these coaches — can accomplish the deliberate, not to say 
dangerous feat of breaking tJie glass with their elbows, and 
pulling the cord. By our American system it is always 
possible for any one to seize the cord running through our 
cars. The European coaches being less lofty than our own, 
the cord, if arranged upon our system, would be still easier 
to reach. 

After leaving Calais, the road mounts to the high ground 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 45 

which lies back of the town, from which a fine view of the 
place, as well as of the Channel may be obtained, with the 
English coast looming up in the far distance. It is a queer 
old town, viewed from any quarter. Founded in the 
Eleventh century by the Counts of Flanders, it first appears 
in history as the place from which Louis the Dauphin set 
sail to claim the English crown, which the disafiected nobles 
of the latter realm sought to transfer to him from the brows 
of King John. 

In 1346 the victorious Edward, fresh from the field of 
Crecy, laid siege to the place, thinking to find it an easy 
prey. Eustache de St. Pierre held the town for his King, 
and held it too for eleven months against the English army, 
yielding at length rather to starvation than to the power of 
the enemy. If St, Pierre and his comrades thought they 
could rely upon the generosity of their foe, they were sadly 
mistaken, for it required all the eloquence and beauty of the 
good Philippa of Hainault, to turn her royal husband -frorA 
his barbarous intention of hanging these leaders for their 
heroic defence. Yet he was more merciful than was their 
own King, who not only refused to reward them for the 
stout service they had done him, but allowed them to beg 
their bread in misery and want through his kingdom for the 
rest of their days. The town remained in the hands of the 
English until 1558, when it Avas recaptured by the French 
under the Duke of Guise. Eichelieu attached much impor- 
tance to its possession, and built the key of its defences, the 
strong citadel, by which the train passes in leaving the town. 

Emerging from Calais, the road passes through the great 
manufacturing suburb of St. Pierre les Calais, whose popula- 
tion outnumbers that of the old town itself, and passes over 
the sandy and chalky region bordering the Channel. Since 
1867 the mail trains to Paris follow the new line from Calais 



46 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

to Boulogne, and thence to Paris by waj of Abbeville and 
Amiens. 

Eleven miles from Calais, the train stops at Caffiers, which 
is four miles from the village of Ouessant, or Witsand, from 
the harbor of which, now filled up with sand, Csesar sailed 
for the Conquest of Britain. Six miles further on is the vil- 
lage of Ambleteuse, now a deserted port, where, on the 5th 
of January 1689, James II., of England, landed, a fugitive 
from his lost kingdom. Six miles further still the line 
passes near to the beach of Wimereux, where, on the 6th of 
August, 1840, Louis Napoleon landed with a little band of 
devoted followers to make the desperate attempt upon the 
crown of France, which led to his long and weary captivity 
at .Ham. Then passing through two long tunnels, the last of 
which is cut under the upper town of Boulogne, the line 
crosses the Liane by a viaduct four hundred yards long, and 
reaches the station for Boulogne, on the left side of the har- 
bor. From the car window one may catch a hasty view of 
the harbor, the upper and lower towns, and a part of the 
system of defensive works. The most conspicuous objects 
are the fine dome of the Cathedral and tbe " Column of the 
Grand Army," the erection of which was begun by Napoleon 
I., to commemorate the assembling here of the great army of 
one hundred and eighty thousand men, with which he inten- 
ded to invade England. His mighty combination came to 
naught, however, by reason of contrary winds and the vigil- 
ance of the English fleet, and like another mighty Emperor, 
who eighteen centuries before had massed a hundred thou- 
sand men on these same heights for the conquest of the " sea 
girt isle," the great soldier abandoned his great design. 
Unlike Caligula, however, he did not content himself with a 
few trophies gathered on the sea shore, but drew his spoils 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 47 

from that brilliant campaign which closed with Austerlitz 
and the Peace of Pressburg. 

But a brief halt is made at Boulogne, and then the train 
pushes on, through the pretty valley of the Liane, and passing 
the hills by means of a tunnel, enters the forest of Hardelot, 
after which it traverses a barren region, and reaches the sea 
and the shallow estuary of the Cauche, at the old port of 
Etaples, whose two talllight houses give a picturesqueness 
to an otherwise dreary scene. The line now follows the 
coast, at a distance of several miles from the sea, the country 
between being low, sandy, and marshy. At Noyelles it 
strikes the banks of the Somme, at the mouth of which is the 
town of St. Valery, from which, according to some writers, 
the fleet of William the Conqueror sailed to invade England. 
Other historians assert that the great Duke sailed from St. 
Valery en Caux, in Normandy. 

Passing Noyelles the line runs close by the ford of Blan- 
quetaque, so called from the white rocks in the vicinity, by 
which Edward III. and his forces crossed the Somme just 
before their victory at Crecy. The English passed the ford 
at low tide, and the rising waters brought the pursuing 
French army to a halt and compelled them to continue their 
march up the left bank, while the English retreated up the 
right shore. 

Nine miles farther on is the town of Abbeville, with a 
population of over nineteen thousand inhabitants. The rail- 
way leaves the town on the left, and the thick rows of poi> 
lars which line the old ramparts, prevent one from seeing 
much of the place. The towers of the half dilapidated church 
of St. Wolfram, form the most conspicuous object seen from 
the coach. Twelve miles distant is the battle field of Crecy, 
which may be visited from this place. 

The line now skirts the left bank of the Somme, which is 



48 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

here more like a canal than a river. It is a pretty little 
stream, flowing through a flat country, its banks being lined 
for several miles with rows of tall and graceful poplars, 
which almost meet above the middle of the stream. Four 
fat monks were rowing a. flat-bottomed boat against its lazy 
current, when I first saw it, and several of the same order 
were strolling under the trees along the shore. Large peat 
deposits occur on the river above Abbeville, and furnish the 
greater part if. not all of the fuel used in the neighborhood. 
On either side of the Somme, at a distance of six or eight 
miles from it, the country rises to a considerable elevation, 
and encloses a wide valley through which the little stream 
flows sluggishly. 

Eighteen miles from Abbeville is the old town of 
Picquigny, famous for the treaty concluded here in 1475 
between Edward IV. of England, and Louis XL of France. 
' Nine miles farther is the fine town of Amiens, the SamarO' 
hriva of the Eomans, and the old Capital of Picardy, It is 
now the chief town of the Department of the Somme, is 
heavily engaged in manufactures, and has a population of 
sixty-one thousand souls. It has given many noted persons 
to the history of France — among others Peter the Hermit, 
and Gabrielle d' Estreds, the mistress of Henry IV. The 
fair frail Gabrielle was noi the only means of connecting the 
name of the Bearnois with Amiens, for in 1598 he won the 
town from its Spanish usurpers at the point of the sword. 

One sees very little of the place, however, for the line 
traverses it by means of a series of tunnels and deep cuttings. 
A halt is made in a fine station, for the purpose of changing 
locomotives, after which the train ascends to the high chalk 
lands of Picardy. At every cross road stands a rustic cruci- 
fix, some of them not bad as works of art; and at Boves, five 
miles from Amiens, may be seen the ruins of an old castle 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 49 

wliere, during the siege of Amiens, Henry IV. passed in the 
society of the beautiful Grabrielle the hours he could snatch 
from the duties of the camp. 

At Olermont-sur-Oise, a brief halt is made, long enough to 
enable one to catch a glimpse of the castle on the hill, above 
the town. This, though now used as a prison for women, was 
a famous fortress from the tenth to the sixteenth century. It 
was twice taken by the English — in 1359 and 1434 — and in 
1595 Henry of Narvarre wrested it from the troops of the 
League. 

Creil, on the right bank of the Oise, is the next station of 
importance. Here the Oise is crossed by a fine stone bridge, 
and the traveller is whirled by the quarries of St. Maximin, 
which for centuries have furnished the light colored stone, of 
which the greater part of Paris is constructed. Then cross- 
ing the valley of La Nonnette by the splendid viaduct of 
Chantilly, the train halts at the Ohantilly station for two or 
three minutes. The country from here on to Paris is very 
beautiful. It is highly cultivated, and forms a perfect gar- 
den, dotted thickly with towns and villages. Near Epinay 
the railway passes the Fort of La Briche, one of the chain 
surrounding Paris, and touching the right bank of the Seine, 
leaves the town of St. Denis on the left. A brief stop at the 
station for this place enables one to gain a hasty view of the 
old Abbey, the burial place of the French Kings. The line 
now crosses the Canal of St. Denis by an iron bridge, and 
traversing the plain of St. Denis, passes the fortifications, 
leaving the hill of Montmartre to the right, and at five o'clock 
in the afternoon the train halts under the great shed of the 
Northern Railway Station, at Paris. 

You cannot go wrong in this depot, for there are soldiers 
and officials enough scattered along the platform to prevent 
your going any Avay but the right one, so you pass along the 
4 



50 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

flags to a little gateway, where your passage-ticket is claimed 
by an official in uniform, and you are shown into an immense 
hall, the outer doors of which are closed and locked. 'Here 
you await the examination of your baggage. The trunks 
brought by the train are arranged in rows in a large hall, and 
when all is in readiness, you are permitted to enter and claim 
your property. You surrender your ticket of registration to 
an official, who compares it with the duplicate pasted on your 
trunk, which, is then delivered to you. A polite and smiling 
Customs official accosts you with " Monsieur, have you any- 
thing to declare ?" An interpreter is close at hand, if you can- 
not understand French ; but it is safe always to reply, " Bien du 
tout " (" nothing at all ") to the first question of the inspector, 
unless you have tobacco or liquor in your baggage, when they 
should be pointed out, as a failure to do so will certainly cause 
their confiscation, and may subject you to penal consequences. 
You raise the lid of your trunk, the inspector, who is usually a 
clever fellow — just the opposite of the New York inspectors 
— peeps in mysteriously, shuts down the lid, chalks a couple 
of hieroglyphics upon it, and, smiling, nods you a ^^ Bon jour, 
Monsieur,''' as he passes on. Instantly the station porters 
pounce upon you, strap and lock your trunk, and seizing it 
rush towards the street. Upon reaching the gateway, they 
pause to ask the very necessary question, " Where do you go, 
Monsieur ?" and slinging your traps upon a cab, repeat your 
directions to the driver, hustle you inside, bang the door, and 
then, doffing their caps with a true French grace, which 
wins your heart, smilingly ask for their ^^ poilr boire,^^ (drink 
money). In England, you would swear at the beggars, but 
you cannot resist such elegance, and dropping a few sous into 
the outstretched hands, you sink back in your cab, and are 
driven rapidly through the streets of the " beautiful city." 



PART I. 
PARIS BY SUNLIGHT. 



I. 

THE CITY OF PARIS. 
I. 

HISTOEIOAL. 

When Julius Caesar had conquered Gaul, his attention 
was called to a small island lying in the Seine, a little over 
a hundred miles from its mouth; and one fine morning, nine- 
teen hundred years ago, he sent his trusted lieutenant, 
Labienus, to conquer the city of mud huts which covered 
the island, and which constituted the chief town of one of the 
Grallic tribes. By whom this town was built is not well 
known, but tradition assigns its establishment to the Phoe- 
nicians, who designed it for a trading port. The Eomans 
subdued it after a fierce struggle, and from that period the 
place became a prominent point in the world's history. The 
conquerors gave it the name of Lutetia, and called its in- 
habitants Parisii ; but they found it hard to draw the wild 
and brave savages into a complete submission to their laws 
or customs, so early did Paris exhibit that dogged resistance 
to all constituted authority which is to-day its chief charac- 
teristic. 

Under the Eomans, who appreciated the military and 
commercial importance of the place, Lutetia, which occu- 
pied the present Isle de la Gite^ became a well-built town. 
As it grew in importance, it was made a city by the Em- 

pero^ Julian, and took the name of Parisis. Julian also 

53 



54 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT, 

granted it extensive privileges. A palace was built on the 
south side of the Seine, on the site of the present Hotel de 
Cluny, and a fleet of Eoman galleys was stationed in the 
river, with their headquarters here. It was the favorite resi- 
dence of Julian, who, from A. D. 355 to 361, occupied the old 
Palace of Thermes, the ruins of which may be seen in the 
gardens of the Hotel de Cluny. Constantius Chlorus lived 
here, and also several other Emperors. As the great Empire 
grew weaker and more corrupt, Paris became more and more 
alienated from it, and consequently received less of its pro- 
tection. In 465, Childeric, less merciful than Attila had 
been, stormed and took it ; and in 506, Clovis established 
himself in the Palace of Thermes. He embraced Chris- 
tianity, which St. Denis had preached here nearly a century 
before, and broke the last bonds which tied the Franks to 
Eome. But none of his Merovingian or Carlovingian suc- 
cessors resided in Paris, and the city began to fall into decay. 
The hardy and piratical Normans found it an easy prey, and 
several times assailed it, sacked it, and retired down the 
Seine to their own country loaded with rich spoils. Their 
victories were not always easy, however, for in 885 the city 
resisted them in a siege of eight months' duration. Otto, 
Count of Paris, came to the aid of the city in the same year, 
and was made King by the grateful Franks ; and in 987, his 
descendant, Hugues Capet, took up his residence at the 
Palais de la Cit^, which occupied the site of the present 
Palais de Justice, and established the French Monarchy 
which ended with Louis XYI. 

Philip Augustus was a true king to Paris. He greatly 
enlarged the city, and founded the Cathedral of Notre Dame, 
In his reign Paris was surrounded by a wall, which, begin 
ning at the north end of the present Pont des Arts, passed 
around by the Porte St. Denis, Church of St. Louis, and 




'■'m\\h 



m 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 55 

the Quai des Celestins to the Seine, and on the south from 
the Tour de Nesle, where the Palais de I'Institat now stands, 
to the Place St. Michel, and thence by the Fosses St. Victor 
and St. Bernard to the Seine. This wall had five hundred 
towers and one hundred and thirty gates, and was considered 
a miracle of architecture. The powerful Templars erected 
a strong fortress on the site of the present Marchd du Tem- 
ple (Temple Market), and the city became the most splendid 
in Europe, though, viewed by the light of to-day, it was 
dirty and wretched then. Peter Lombard and Abelard 
made it the centre of the intellectual world, and drew to h 
scores of young and ardent students. Philip Augustus also 
reorganized the University, and gave to it those principles 
■which made the Latin quarter famous. Saint Louis (IX.) 
continued the good work. Coming to the throne in the 
early part of the Thirteenth century, he built the Sainte 
Chapelle, organized a regular police system, founded a 
school of surgery, and many beneficent and commercial in- 
stitutions, and his chaplain, Robert de Sorbon, established 
the famous School of Theology which still bears his name. 

While John II. was king, and while he was held captive 
by the English, the city was governed by Btienne Marcel, 
provost of Paris. He enlarged and restored the fortifica- 
tions, and held in check the turbulent people, whose brawls 
and lawlessness, not only during his reign, but for long years 
after, made the streets unsafe for honest citizens after night- 
fall. Charles Y. came to the throne in 1361, and drove the 
English out of France. He added several large buildings 
to the city, and built the Hotel de St. Pol for a royal resi- 
dence. At a later period this strong work was changed to a 
prison of state, and called the Bastile. The city was very 
gay in this reign, and chariots and four-wheeled equipages 
were introduced. Gambling and riotous living became a 



56 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

distinguishing feature of Parisian life, and drew crowds of 
free livers from all parts of the world. A new wall was 
built around the city, enclosing one thousand and eighty- 
four acres. But this did not serve to keep out, during the 
sad reign of Charles' mad successor, the scourge, the famine, 
and the English, who entered the city triumphantly and pro- 
claimed Henry Y. King of France and England, amidst the 
rejoicings of the people. The Parisians of that day must 
have been a fickle set, for no less hearty were the rejoicings 
with which they greeted the entrance of their own king, 
Charles YII., after the expulsion of the English in 1436. 

The streets were dark, narrow and filthy, and the city was 
the most unhealthy in the world. Forty-five thousand per- 
sons died in Paris in 1438, and wolves prowled through the 
streets, and in 1466, Louis XI., a wise as well as a cruel king, 
invited malefactors and vagabonds from all parts of the globe 
to fill up the gaps which the scourge had made. The readi- 
ness with which his invitation was accepted is shown by the 
fact that at the close of his reign (1483) the population num- 
bered 300,000 souls; and a troublesome population it was, 
too, as the king frequently found to his cost. Louis XL did 
much for the commerce of the city, and established its first 
special school of medicine. He was a firm and liberal friend 
to industry of all kinds, and protected the infant art of print- 
ing against the superstitious prejudices of the age. The first 
attempt at lighting the streets was made under his patronage, 
and he established the first postal system of the realm. 

The reign of Francis I. saw a rapid advance in the magnifi- 
cence and wickedness of the city. The grim old castle of 
the Louvre was pulled down, and the present palace com- 
menced. The Hotel de Ville and a royal free college were 
begun, and new streets opened. The reign of Henry II. saw 
the founding of the Palace of the Tuileries. and the magnifi- 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 57 

cent institution now known as the Imperial Library. The 
religious wars, and especially the Massacre of St. Bartholo- 
mew, in the reign of Charles IX. (1572), threw a gloom over 
Paris, and checked its progress. Henry TV. laid siege to it, 
inflicted upon it a loss of 13,000 persons, and captured it in 
159-1. His genius soon worked wonders for it. It again be- 
came the great centre of Europe. Henry enlarged the Louvre 
and the Tuileries, established the Place Eoyale, and built the 
Pont Feuf. 

Under Louis XIIL, Eichelieu made the city magnificent. 
He established the French Academy and the Jardin des 
Plantes, and the College of Louis le Grand, and built the 
Palais Eoyal. In this reign several fine bridges and quays 
were built, also the Palace of the Luxembourg, and the Fau- 
bourg St. Grermain was filled with splendid private hotels. 

Louis XIV. continued the good work. He built the HOtel 
des Invalides, the eastern colonnade of the Louvre, the Portes 
St. Martin and St. Denis, laid out the boulevards as prome- 
nades, planted the Champs Elysdes, enlarged the gardens of 
the Tuileries, established the Place Yendome and the Place dea 
Victoires, the opera, the observatory, the various academic? 
(except the French Academy), the Gomedie Frangaise, thirty, 
three churches, a number of hospitals, the Gobelin tapestry 
works, and built eighty new streets. The streets were per- 
manently lighted in this reign by lanterns hung from posts, 
omnibuses of a rude pattern were introduced, and the firsi 
cafe opened. 

Louis XV. though he disliked and'avoided Paris, found i^ 
a magnificent city. It had (A. D.. 1715), a population of ovei 
half a million, and covered an area of 3,919 acres. It con 
tained 500 great streets, 100 squares and parks, 9 bridges, 
and 22,000 private houses, and had 9 faubourgs attached to 
it. It was the capital of art, science, literature, and politics 



58 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

for all Europe, and the chief resort of persons in pursuit of 
knowledge or pleasure from all parts of the globe. It was like- 
wise the great centre of wickedness and dissipation, of which 
the orgies of the Regent Duke of Orleans were the climax. 

The reign of Louis XYI. witnessed the opening of a new 
era. When the Octroi^ or City Customs wall was built, near 
the close of this reign, it was found that the city covered an 
area of 8,124 acres, and contained over 50,000 houses, 967 
lighted streets, 64 churches, 11 abbeys, 133 monasteries and 
religious houses, 15 seminaries, 10 colleges, 26 hospitals and 
asylums, 60 fountains, and 12 markets. The churches, con- 
vents, and their gardens occupied one-third of the whole city. 

In the dense, foul quarter which huddled under the very 
shadow of the Louvre, a wild storm had been brewing for 
generations. When the explosion came, the whole of the 
French social edifice went down before it. The Ee volution 
not only changed the destiny of France, but made a different 
city of its capital. It swept away the ancient landmarks as 
well as the ancient S3^stem of the city, and made way for a 
new Paris, and the reign of new ideas. Its work was not to 
build up, but to pull down, to remove that which was foul 
and poisonous in the city itself as well as in the body politic. 
When it had done this, God stayed its hand, and swept it 
away and made room fof the new era whose mission was to 
create, not to destroy. On the 25th of December, 1799, Napo- 
leon Bonaparte was chosen First Consul, and on the 18th of 
May, 1804, became Emperor of the French. 

Napoleon made a new city of Paris. The Revolutionary 
Government had confiscated the property of the convents, 
and out of the vast area retained by the State, Napoleon re- 
solved to construct a series of ornaments which should for- 
ever endear his name to his people. He swept away the old 
Convent of the Feuillans, and opened the Rue de Rivoli from 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 59 

the lower end of the Tuileries garden to the present Pavilion 
du Eohan. He broke up the dens in the Place du Carrousel, 
and formed the splendid square in which he placed his trium- 
phal arch. He pulled down the old Convent of the Filles de 
St. Thomas, and created that great heart of commercial 
France, the Bourse ; commenced the Palais du Quai d'Orsay ; 
completed the Louvre gallery, and began that on the opposite 
side of the Place du Carrousel, and opened eight new markets. 
He began the magnificent triumphal "Arch of the Star;" 
and added a long series of improvements to the city, too nu- 
merous even to mention here. 

Paris enjoyed many years of prosperity under Louis 
Philippe, and a number of handsome edifices were erected. 
The Hotel de Ville was completed, as were also the Arc de 
Triomphe de I'Etoile, the Madeleine, and the Palais du Quai 
d'Orsay ; the Louvre, Notre Dame, and the Palais de Jus- 
tice were restored and improved, and the present fortifica- 
tions and detached forts of the city constructed. 

The Revolution of 1848, and the efforts of the Eepublican 
Government to put down the mob, damaged the city con- 
siderably, but the public buildings were saved from the fury 
of the insurgents by inscribing upon them those magic 
words, so full of meaning to a Frenchman — "Liberty, 
equality, and fraternity I" 

On the 2d of December, 1851, the power of France passed 
into the hands of Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, who became 
Emperor by the universal suffrage of the people, on the 
2d of December, 1852. This was the beginning of the most 
brilliant era in the history of Paris. 

Being the only French Sovereign ever born in Paris, it is 
natural, perhaps, that the Emperor should entertain a warm 
affection for his birthplace, and that he should desire to 
make it the most magnificent capital of Europe. He had 



60 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

scarcely mounted the throne when he began a series of 
public works, which have produced an almost entirely new 
city. One of his first acts was to order the completion of 
the Louvre and its union with the Tuileries. Since the be- 
ginning of his reign Paris has been entirely changed. He 
found it a mass of crooked streets, dark, dingy buildings, 
dirty and unwholesome, and he lias made it one of the clean- 
est, handsomest, lightest, and healthiest cities in Europe, 
Broad, finely-built avenues have been cut through the 
densest and, foulest portions of the old city, letting in air 
and sunlight, and the dingy rookeries of old Paris have 
given way to long lines of handsome modern buildings. In 
the old city proper — the city of Philip Augustus — these 
changes have been especially marked. Numerous gardens, 
squares, fountains, and public buildings, besides innumerable 
edifices erected by private capital, have taken the place of 
the former haunts of vice, suffering, and disease. Between 
the years 1852 and 1859, four thousand three hundred and 
forty-nine houses were demolished, and nine thousand six hun- 
dred and seventeen new ones were constructed in Paris, the 
constructions being chiefly the result of private enterprise ; 
and since then the work has gone on with unflagging activity. 
The new streets are amongst the most important works of 
the Emperor. They are broad and straight, having been 
cut through houses and other streets, even hills having been 
levelled in their construction. By 1863, twenty thousand 
metres (nearly twenty-two thousand English yards) of these 
streets had been constructed, and ten thousand metres more 
(nearly eleven thousand English yards) had been laid off for 
future openings. Much of this work has been completed, 
and the remainder is in progress. As fast as the streets are 
opened, they are built up with new and handsome edifices, 
and are furnished wiih broad, firm pavements. Gas and 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 61 

water are at once introduced along the streets and into all 
the new buildings. The drainage of the city has been im- 
proved by a connected network of sewers undermining Paris 
on both sides of the Seine. These sewers discharge their 
contents into the river at Asnieres, through a grand trunk 
sewer nineteen feet broad, fourteen and a half feet high, and 
two> and a half miles long. 

New bridges and quays have been constructed along the 
river, and old ones repaired. The Pont Napoleon IIl.^ Pont 
de Solferino, and Pont de VAlma, are the work of the present 
reign, and are amongst the most splendid bridges in the 
world. The old bridges have been greatly improved, and 
some, the Pont cm Qhange^ Pont St. Michel, Pont d^rcole, and 
those connecting the Cite with the Isle St. Louis, have been 
almost entirely rebuilt. The tolls have been bought back 
by the Government and the bridges made free. A large 
part of the embankment, on both sides of the river, from 
the Pont de Constantine to the Pont de VAlma, a distance of 
nearly five miles (including both banks), has been supplied 
with new walls of massive stone masonry, and the whole 
river line has been provided with good wharves and broad 
towing paths. The limits of the city have been extended to 
the fortifications, taking in the suburban towns and villages 
collected about the old octivi wall. 

Everything has felt the good effects of these changes, this 
untiring energy on the part of the Government. Property has 
appreciated in value at an enormous rate. Paris is no longer 
the gloomiest and dirtiest of European Capitals, but, as has 
been said, has become the most magnificent. Its sanitary 
condition has improved as rapidly. In 1846 the death rate 
was one in twenty eight ; in 1863 it had fallen oft' to one in 
forty. Light, cleanliness, and fresh air, priceless gifts of 
Napoleon III. to his birth-place, have accomplished this. 



62 PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Another benefit is that the new streets and better style of 
buildings have broken up the crowded haunts of the Ouvrier 
class. These people, who formerly huddled together in com- 
pact masses, and in dwellings resembling our New York 
tenement houses, have, in this way, been steadily driven off 
into the cheaper and healthier quarters of the outer boule- 
vards. There the workman finds a cleaner and a better home 
than that from which crash of falling stones and timbers 
drove him. Being able to live more economically than in 
his old haunts, he can afford more comforts, more luxuries 
for himself and his family, and finds in the end that his con- 
dition has been bettered in spite of himself ISTor is this the 
only good result. Saint Antoine has been stripped of his 
power. The working classes are scattered to the suburbs, and 
the danger which formerly existed from their being concen- 
trated in the heart of Paris, is to some extent, if not entirely, 
removed. The new streets are too broad for barricades, and 
the convenient old cobble-stones and flags have given way 
to pavements of asphaltum and macadamized roads. 

The Emperor has met with great opposition in carrying 
out these improvements, but he has persevered, and now 
Paris reaps the benefit of them. They are the result of 
a wise and liberal policy. The Eepublic of 1848 did nothing 
towards bettering the condition of the city. Paris had a 
large surplus revenue, which, it was evident, would increase 
with its prosperity. The Emperor wisely determined that 
this surplus revenue, or, in other words, that which remained 
after the expenses of the municipal government were paid, 
should be applied to beautifying and adorning the city. He 
was convinced that to leave the work entirely in the hands 
of the municipal authorities would be to defeat his plan, and 
resolved that the new works should be carried on by the 
. State and the City conjointly — that the State should retain a 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 63 

control over the works sufficient to compel the City to accom- 
plish the task assigned it. The great bulk of the expense is 
borne by the City, the State contributing less than one-third 
of the amount, which is fixed by law at 18,000,000 francs 
per annum, the State's contribution being 5,000,000 francs. 



II 

STATISTICAL. 

Paris, the metropolis of France, is situated on the river 
Seine, in the department of the Seine, and in the ancient prov- 
ince of the He de France. It lies in 48° 50' 49" North lati- 
tude, and in 2° 20' 15" Bast longitude from Greenwich. In 
1860, the city limits were extended to the fortifications, taking 
in all the faubourgs and quarters lying without the old Octroi 
wall. These fortifications are a little more than 22 miles in 
circuit, and are pierced with QQ gates or entrances, called lar- 
rihes. The city limits, thus enclosed, cover an area of 19,260 
acres, or 30 square miles. The population in 1867, was 
1,825,274 inhabitants. At present it is about 1,900,000. 

The general government of the City is administered by the 
Prefect of the Department of the Seine, assisted by a Muni- 
cipal Council of sixty members, and by the Prefect of Police. 
These officials are appointed by the Emperor. For adminis- 
trative purposes, the City is divided into twenty arrondisse- 
ments, or quarters. Each arrondissement has a Mayor, two 
Deputy Mayors, and a Juge de Paix, (Justice of the Peace,) 
subordinate to the Prefect of the Seine ; and is subdivided 
into quarters, each of which is provided with a Commissary 
of Police, subject to the Prefect of Police. The Prefect of 
Police has the sole charge of all measures for preserving the 
health, cleanliness, and order of the City. 



64 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

In 1859, the aggregate lengtli of the paved and macadam- 
ized streets was 300 miles, of which, more than 240 miles 
were provided with asphaltum or stone-paved sidewalks; 
and more than 200 miles were bordered with trees, gardens, 
or planted squares. The streets were lighted with 15,160 
gas-lamps. The aggregate length of the sewers in that year 
was 122 miles. At present it is 250 miles. There are be- 
tween 4,500 and 5,000 policemen on duty in the city, and 
2,900 Municipal Guards. A military corps, consisting of 
1,300 officers and men, perform the duties of firemen. There 
are 8 prisons in the city, which are managed in a humane 
manner. Besides 70 places of worship connected with pub- 
lic establishments, religious communities, etc., there are 72 
parish churches ; and 18 places of worship for persons not 
Roman Catholics. There are 19 religious communities of 
men, and 53 of women. There are 22 civil, general, and 
special hospitals, 19 public hospices^ 27 asylums and alms- 
houses, and 3 military hospitals. The medical service in 
these is performed by the most eminent surgeons and phy- 
sicians in France ; the nursing in part by the sisters of the 
different religious orders. The City of Paris supports in 
these establishments, nearly 18,000 free beds, at an annual 
expense of $2,000,000. Besides this, it furnishes medical 
attendance to more than 125,000 poor. 

There are 30 large public libraries in Paris, of which 
8 are open to every one. The Imperial Library is the 
largest in the world. It contains more than 1,000,000 printed 
volumes, 300,000 pamphlets, 150,000 manuscripts, 300,000 
maps, charts, and topographical views, 1,300,000 engrav- 
ings, and a cabinet of medals and coins numbering 150,000 
specimens. 

There are twenty-eight theatres in the city. Of these five 
are devoted to musical performances. The Grand Opera, 



PARIS BY SUXLIGIIT AND GASLIGHT. 65 

which is famous for its hctllet and gorgeous scenic effects, is 
the principal On a rainy Sunday night, the theatres of 
Paris seat about 30,000 spectators. In addition to the thea- 
tres there are about one han(b'ed and fifty other enclosed 
places of amusement, such as circuses, concerts, cafo-concerts. 
concert-garilens, etc., whicli have an average nightly attend- 
ance of 24,000 persons. 

In 1858 the Parisians consumed 32,250,000 gallons of wine ; 
1,780,000 gallons of alcoholic liquids ; 7,049,856 gallons of 
cider, perry, and beer ; 205,513,877 pounds of butcher's meat : 
and 17,451,084 pounds of other solid animal food. 

In 1859 the total expoi'ts of the city were valued at 
$76,300,000, and its total foreign and colonial imports at 
$28,600,000, American money. 

In 1865 there were 55,096 births in Paris, of which 27,927 
were boys, 27,169 girls, and 15, 8()7 were ille^timate. Of the 
illegitimate children, 3,961 were acknowledged by their 
parents. In the same year there vvei'e 16,540 mari'iages. Of 
these, 13,578 were between voung men and maidens; 894 
between single men and widmvs; 1,490 between widowers 
and maidens; and 578 between widowers aiid widows. The 
number of deaths was 52,422. 

The revenues of the city are drawn principally from the 
octroi, or tax levied upon all articles of consumption brought 
into the city. This impost yields about 100,000,000 of francs 
annually. Tiie sum of 300,000 francs is raised an nu all}' by 
a poll-tax often francs upon 30,000 Parisian dogs. 

The climate is pleasant as a general rule. The mean tem- 
perature is about fifty-one degrees F., limited by the summer 
and winter extremes of ninet3^-six degrees above and one de- 
gree below zero. Falls of snow are rare and slight. The 
average number of rainy days is one hundred and five per 
annum, and the average annual ft^ll of rain twenty-two inches. 





II. 

MORNING IN PARIS. 

Have you the courage to wake at six o'clock ? It is an 
early hour for Paris. Eise, open your window and look out. 
The streets that were so gay last night are deserted and silent. 
No one is abroad but the rag pickers jftst finishing their 
rounds, and the street sweepers engaged in cleansing the 
pavements from the filth and dirt of the previous day. A 
solitary Sergeni de Ville sleepily watches the operation, and 
turns impatiently to look for the comrade who is to relieve 
him. 

Dress, come out into the street. It is still silent and de- 
serted, but the morning is bright and beautiful. A broad 
stream of fresh water, pure and limpid enough to drink, is 
flowing down the gutters, washing them clean and cooling 
the air. Pass from the Boulevards into the private streets, 
and you will see no more life than here, Down in the ouvrier 
districts people are just thinking of stirring, for many a weary 
step may lie between the workman's home and his place of 
toil. 

At seven o'clock, the business of the day oj^ens. First 
comes the milk woman in her cart drawn by a queer little 
horse, and establishes herself under a porte-cochere, where she 
arrane:es her cans, and awaits her customers. She will sit 
here for two hours dealing out her supply to all applicants; 
and be sure you will get the pure product of the cow in buy- 
ing her wares, for dire are the penalties with which the au- 
66 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. ^7 

thorities punish the heinous crime of mixing water with milk. 
Indeed, your true Parisian has no use for water, unless per- 
haps to mix it with sugar, and sip it at night on the boule- 
vards. In a little while the housemaids come tripping out 
for the day's supply of milk. They had their share of last 
night's dissipations, but they are as fresh and as bright as 
the morning itself. In their prett}'' dresses and coquettish 
little caps, they make as attractive a picture as one could 
wish to see. They are all friends of the milkwoman, and 
besides telling her their own matters, retail the domestic 
affairs of their betters so faithfully and thoroughl}^, that she 
knows the secrets of all the families in the street. Back home 
trip the pretty creatures, the fire is lighted in the stove, the 
kettle boiled, and the real day begins with a cup of cafe au 
laii^ without which no Parisian can enter upon his labors. 

Come back into the Boulevards and the, adjoining streets. 
Just opposite the Madeleine the omnibuses are taking their 
station. Procure your ticket, and mount to one of the open 
seats on the top. Pass with your vehicle along the splendid 
street, by the Grand Hotel and the New Opera, through the 
Italian boulevard, and the Boulevard Montmartre, by the 
Portes St. Denis and St. Martin, and you will find yourself 
in the fine square of the Chateau d'Eau. A pretty place, 
truly, but blood flowed like water here, when the last French 
King went down before the people. The omnibus stops for a 
moment to take up the earl}^ passengers awaiting it at the 
bureau, and you notice the fine barracks of Prince Eugene, 
that splendid building of light stone on your left as you turn 
into the Boulevard du Temple. Never mind the streets 
Keep your eyes, as long as you can, on the long rows of 
stands with their beautiful plants and bouquets in the flower- 
market of the Chateau d' Eau, or rather gaze long at the still 
prettier girls who keep guard over these dainty wares, even 



68 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

at this early hour, and nod to their soldier lovers at the bar- 
rack windows. Down the Boulevard du Temple jou rattle at 
a merry pace. Here once stood the six theatres, whose tragic 
spectacles gave to the streetthe nickname of the "Boulevard 
of Crime." But they have passed awaj^, and the houses along 
your route are now the residences of staid, steady citizens, 
people of wealth and position. Few strangers come this far, 
unless bound on the errand which has brought you out this 
morning. They stick to the " true Boulevards." beyond the 
Porte St. Denis, and only lona fide citizens dwell here. 
Down through the Boulevard des Filles du Calvaire, you 
enter the fine Boulevard Beaumarchais — the great mocker 
lived hard by, and the street is cut through what was once 
his private domain, and is called after him. It saw hard 
fighting in 1848, and long years ago witnessed the loves of 
Ninon de Lenclos, whose house stands just out of the boule 
vard, in the Eue Toarnelles, 

That high column of bronze, surmounted by a golden 
victory, marks the sight where the Bastille once stood, and 
the long street on your left as you descend from your omni- 
bus in the Boulevard Richard Lenoir, leads into the famous 
Faubourg St. Anfcoine, now stripped of its terrors. 

Your ticket of correspondence entitles you to a place on 
another omnibus, which carries you, if you so will it, up the 
Rue St. Antoine into the splendid Rue de Rivoli, past the 
Hotel de Ville, the grim old tower of St. Jacques, the Louvre, 
and the Palais Royal, through a maze of narrower streets into 
the Boulevards once more, and sits you down at the Made- 
leine again, as the clocks are striking ten. 

The Boulevards are alive now. The shops are open, the 
sliutters are down, and the Cafes have gotten themselves in 
readiness to receive their guests. The lines of carriages are 
in their jtlaces on the streets, with the drivers half-dozing on 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 69 

the boxes. The newspaper stands solicit your custom, bat 
you pass them by, unless you are bent on acquiring the news 
of the market, for nobody but men of business read the morn- 
ing journals. The gay, gossipy sheets of the evening alone 
can charm your Parisian. Street peddlers — you may know 
them by the brass labels containing their number and license, 
hanging from their necks — accost you at every step, urging 
you to buy their wares. They know that this is the hour 
for strangers and sight-seers, from whom they hope to reap a 
rich harvest. 

Your boots are dirty. Do you want them brushed ? 
Call that quiet, respectable-looking man sitting*at the street 
corner. He is the very pattern of politeness, and you pay him 
more than his charge of three cents for the splendid shine he 
imparts to your foot-covering. Don't wait for a boy, for you 
will find no juvenile boot-blacks in Paris. Men do the work 
here. 

There are no women out yet, or only those who earn their 
living by honest labor. Your fine lady, and the dwellers in 
the dtmi-monde have not yet roused them from their slum- 
bers. 

You are hungry, for it is nearing eleven o'clock. Had 
you been a genuine Frenchman, you would have had your 
cafe au hit upon rising, and could now wait with true Gallic 
stoicism until high noon for your breakfast. Stroll about, 
attend to whatever business you may have, and at noon go to 
the Palais Eoyal, or one of the high-priced Cafes of the Boule- 
vards, for your breakfast. It will cost you from a franc and 
a half upward. If you are moderate in your desires, three 
francs will buy you a good breakfast in the restaurant of the 
Grand Hotel. 



III. 

FEENCH COOKERY. 
I. 

THE CAFES. 

What an American would be without his iced drinks — 
what an Englishman Avould be without his "half-and-half" — 
that would a Frenchman be without his coffee. 

The Caft is an institution peculiar to Paris, It is neither 
a restaurant, pure and simple, nor a bar-room, but is a kind 
of happy medium between the two. 

The first Ca/e was opened in Paris towards the latter half 
of the seventeenth century. It was established temporarily 
during a great festival, and, being a novelty, of course suc- 
ceeded for a time. At the close of the festival, however, the 
proprietor found his custom falling off so rapidly that he 
was forced to remove to a cellar in the Latin Quarter, and 
finally to sell out. His failure, however, did not imply a 
dislike for the beverage on the part of the French, for cofiee- 
drinking became a habit with them from that time forward. 
It was hawked about by street peddlers, very much as coco- 
water is sold now. 

In 1689, another, and a more successful effort to introduce 

it was made. A Sicilian opened a coffee-house opposite the 

Theatre Frangais, and his establishment became the rage. 

He was followed by an Arminian, who added a fresh novelty — • 

70 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 71 

the habit of smoking wliile taking coffee. This fellow was 
a shrewd one, for he also provided his rooms with the lead- 
ing journals of the day, which he allowed his guests to read 
gratuitously. Since then the Cafe, has been the chief resort 
of all classes who have a little or a great deal of leisure time 
on their hands. Statesmen have come here to dream over 
their plans — poets have found their inspiration here — vast 
schemes of finance and trade have taken solid shape out of 
the fumes of the invigorating cup — and revolutionists and 
conspirators have with equal facility drawn from it the vigor 
and diabolical clearness which has enabled them to do their 
work so well. 

In 1672, Paris contained three Cafes ; in 1754, about seven 
hundred; in 1789, at the beginning of the great Revolution, 
eleven hundred; in 1825, three thousand; and to-day, four 
thousand. 

The true Ca/e, as I have said, is neither a bar-room nor a 
restaurant. Few pefsons seek it for the purpose of procuring 
a "good square meal," and still fewer to obtain intoxicating 
liquors. It is simply a parlor, an. elegant, lounging place, 
where friends may meet, intrigues be commenced and carried 
on, and tlie_ latest and most popular journals be read for 
nothing. Strangers, indeed, may get drunk here, imd call 
down upon the place the vigilance of the police, but a 
Frenchman rarely does. He comes here to meet his friends, 
to see the world, to hear the latest gossip, or to arrange some 
future meeting with some demure-looking ladj^, who sips 
her coffee so quietly and so modestly that you tliink her the 
only honest woman present. 

Coffee, tea, chocolate, beer, wines and liquors, form the 
staple wares of these establishments. They are all of the first 
quality, and the charges are high. Coffee sells at forty cen- 
times (eight cents) the glass; beer and liquors bring from 



72 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

forty to fifty centimes (eight to ten cents) the glass ; and 
wines command all prices, none of them cheap, by the bottle 
or half bottle. Ices sell for one franc, twenty-five centimes 
(thirty cents) for a small glass, and are far inferior to those 
of our own country. 

The majority of the Gafes have been compelled, by the 
growing demand, to furnish, besides these dainties, many of 
the substantials, such as chops, eggs, steaks, etc., but the 
prices are much higher than in the restaurants. Breakfast 
is a very light meal with the Parisian. He waits until din- 
ner before he thoroughly satisfies his appetite, and, as few 
persons, save those w^ith an abundance of money, dine at the 
Cafes, one does not find in the majority of them the variety 
so conspicuous in the restaurants. 

I once got a dinner in the Gafe d'' Orleans, in the Palais 
Roj'^al. The following, which is a true copy of my bill, will 
show that it was not a very elaborate banquet, and will "at 
the same time convince the most skeptical that it was not 
cheap : 

Bread •. . . , 1 franc. 

Wine 3 francs 50 centimes. 

Sonp 60 centimes. 

Butter 20 centimes. 

Roast Beef. 1 franc 50 centimes. 

Peas 1 franc 50 centimes. 

Caf6 40 centimes. 

Fruits , 3 francs. 

Total 11 francs 70 centimes. 

In all, about $2.35, gold ; or, with specie at a premium of 
thirty-five, about $3.17, currency. It is needless to say that 
I did not repeat the experiment ; and, I may add, that I got 
as good a dinner the next day in one of the Palais Royal 
restaurants for five francs. 



a 




73 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 75 

In the morning, between the hours of eleven and twelve, 
the cafes are thronged with men of business. Idlers come in 
later. It is only in the evening that they are in their glory. 
The Cafe de la Rotonde^ in the garden of the Palais Eoyal, has 
the exclusive privilege of placing chairs and tables within 
the garden in the open air. It is a little circular pavillion at 
the northern end of the garden, and pays high for its privi- 
lege. Its receipts are heavy, however, for the grounds are a 
favorite resort in the bright summer evenings, and your 
Frenchman cannot sit still without a cup of coffee before him. 
This establishment, and the Cafe d' Orleans, in tlie glass gal- 
lery near the Theatre Frangais, are the best the Palais Eoyal 
can boast. 

As soon as the sun sets the cafes of the Boulevards are all 
aglow. They are all handsome establishments, gorgeous 
with plate-glass, frescoes, and gildings. Scores of lights daz- 
zle the eye, and multiply themselves in the long mirrors. 
In the summer no one thinks of sitting indoors, and the side- 
walks, or irottoirs, are lined with little tables and witli chairs. 
Persons of all classes sit here, smoking^, drinkinaj, chattino-. 
reading the journals. Here is a true democracy — the only 
social equality to be seen in Christendom. The Senator and 
the Blouse sit side by side, and the Duchess and the Lorette 
rest their dainty cups on the same table. The utmost good 
humor prevails on all sides, and the truest courtesy is ex- 
tended to all alike. Your Frenchman holds that it is not only 
the right, but the duty of every man to enjoy himself to the 
extent of his capacity, and the Peer feels that at the cafe his 
right, in this respect, is based solely upon the foundation upon 
which the Ouvrier rests his — his ability to pay for his pleas 
ure. Nothing can be more interesting or more brilliant than 
these brightly lighted streets with their gorgeous cafes, their 
crowds of pleasure seekers sitting or strolling about, scores of 



76 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

splendid equipages dasbiug by, and the whole air musical 
with laughter and nierrj voices. 

But what astonishes an American most, is the length of 
time a Frenchman takes to swallow a cup of coffee. Your 
Parisian will not touch anything he cannot spend at least an 
hour over. In the summer of 1869, some enterprising Yan- 
kee opened a genuine American soda-fountain, on the Boule- 
vard des Italiens. At first, being a novelty, it was all the 
rage, and the hopes of the proprietor rose high ; but his cus- 
tom suddenly waned as rapidly as it had come. He tried 
various plans for reviving his trade, but without success, and 
when I last saw him he spoke of closing his doors. The 
reason of his failure will be plain to all who know the people 
lie had to deal with. The Parisians did not object to the 
soda-water ; on the contrary, they were much pleased with 
it. They found, however, that to enjoy it they must drink it 
at once. This set them to thinking, A glass of soda-water 
cost the same as a cup of coffee. There were no tables on 
the Boulevard at which to sit and drink it; no journals to 
read while it was being sipped ; and, finally, no sugar and 
matches to steal when the beverage was imbibed. These 
were great objections, and as my soda-water friend could not 
surmount them, I think he will be forced to write " Ichabod" 
over his doors and turn his face to the setting sun. 

Many of the best writers of France deprecate the popular- 
ity of the cafe on the ground that it promotes dissipation and 
idleness, with all their accompanying vices. So far, so good ; 
but there is another vice still more prevalent, namel}^, theft. 
Let any man, however honest at the outset, frequent a Paris- 
ian caft for six weeks, and he will wind up by being a thief. 
See that table over yonder. Three men sit at it. One is a 
Marshal of France; another, a Senator; and the third, one 
of the brighest lights of the Church, They have finished 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 77 

their coffee, and are idly smoking, and watching the crowd. 
At length the Marshal draws out his watch and, noting the 
lateness of the hour, proposes to depart. The waiter is called, 
and the bill paid. On the table there are three small plates, 
each of which contains two long lumps of white sugar, and in 
the centre is a box full of matches. No sooner is the waiter's 
back turned than these men, so high in Church and State, 
pocket the sugar and divide the matches between them. It 
is the work of an instant, and then they rise to go. Now, 
my dear friend, restrain your horror, and refrain from calling 
the waiter. Look around you and you will see a score of 
people engaged in the same practice. Matches and sugar are 
legitimate plunder here; but it would make you laugh to see 
the guilty look which mantles the culprit's face when the 
waiter turns suddenly and catches him at liis little game. 
Try the same thing at Delmonico's, and — unless " Del " is in 
a particularly good humor — you stand a chance of making 
the acquaintance of Justice Dowling the next morning. Yet 
"Del" says he keeps his house in the French style. Maybe 
so, but then his ideas of meum and hiiim have become Ameii- 
canized. 

Amongst the Boulevard cafes the following are the most 
prominent : 

The Cafe NapoUHan^ in the Boulevard des Capucines, is 
famous for its ices and sorbets. The Grand Cafe^ in the 
same street, at the corner of Rue Scribe, is, perhaps, the 
most magnificent in Paris. One can get a good breakfast 
here, at a tolerably reasonable cost. The Cafe de la Paix, 
and Cafe d'Anffleiei-re, in the same Boulevard, are also fine 
establishments. In the Boulevard des Italiens, the Cafe 
Anglais, and the Cafe Rlche are famed for their ^;c^^//s soupers 
after the Opera. They are also good dining-houses, but the 
charges are high. TorlonVs has been for nearly half a century, 



/8 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

one of the most famous establishments in the city. Its ices 
are unsurpassed, and it furnishes good, bat costly dinners. 
It was formerly a rendezvous for stock-brokers and specula- 
tors, but the Cafe, Riche has drawn away many of this class. 

The Qrand Cafe de Paris, in the Boulevard St. Martin, has 
attached to it a fine billiard hall containing twenty-two tables. 
It is nightly filled with visitors. 

The Cafe Turc, in the Boulevard du Temple, is a gorgeous 
oriental palace, with long galleries and beautiful gardens. 

The Cafe de la Regence, in the Rue St. Honore, opposite the 
Palais Royal, is the great rendezvous of chess players, and is 
voted rather stupid by those who do not care for the game. 

The Cafe Procope, in the Rue de 1' Ancienne-Comedie, in 
the Faubourg St. Germain, is the oldest in the city. It was 
a famous house in its early days, for it was the favorite loung- 
ing place of Yoltaire, Piron, Diderot, Fontenelle, and the wits 
and geniuses of that century. 

Other establishments there are in all parts of Paris, rang- 
ing from the palaces of the more fashionable streets, to the 
simple but neat and cleanly single room of the poorer quar- 
ters ; all having the same object in view, to provide a place 
for passing one's leisure time, and hearing the news of the 
day at a moderate cost. 

II. 

THE RESTAURANTS. 

Very few of the Parisians take their meals in their own 
homes; the majority seek them at the restaurants which 
abound in all parts of the city. They do this for two reasons: 
first, because a cheaper meal can be obtained in this way ; 
second, because it involves less trouble and a simpler domes- 
tic arrangement at home. Judged by our American ideas, 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 79 

it is a very troublesome and uncomfortable thing to live in 
this way, but French notions differ from oar own. 

" Paris," says M. Adolphe Joanne, " boasts restaurants of 
all classes, of all prices, exactly suited to the tastes and the 
resources of all. Whether one eats to live, or lives to eat, he 
is certain to be satisfied here. True, some delicate stomachs 
assert that the culinary art is in its decadence ; and it is pos- 
sible that it has reached its limit of progress ; but such as it 
is, it is still an art, and in this art Paris has no rival. The 
traditions of Yatel, of Careme, of Brillat-Savarin, are still 
fresh there ; and it is still the city in the whole world where 
one can obtain the best dinner for his money." 

The restaurants of Paris are divided into two classes , 
those which furnish a meal at a fixed price, and those which 
charge separately for each article ordered, or ^' reslauranis a 
la carie^^'' as they are called. Each class has its advocates, and 
much can be said in favor of each. To my mind, however, 
the whole question is one of means. If you do not object to 
spending a round sum of money, you can beyond a doubt get 
the best dinner at a " restaurant a la carte." If, however, 
your object is to economize, shun all such places, and order 
your dinner at a fixed price, 

Eestaurants with a fixed price are numerous. The Diner 
de Paris, No. 12 Boulevard Montmartre, has also an en- 
trance at No. 11 Passage Jouftroy, and furnishes excellent 
breakfasts for two francs, and equally good dinners for four 
francs. This is the best as well as the most expensive of 
these establishments. There are others scattered over the 
city, the best being in the neighborhood of the Boulevards 
and in the Palais Royal. The prices range all the way from 
two francs to one franc twenty-five centimes for a breakfast, 
and from four francs to two francs for a dinner; dinners from 
two and a half francs upwards, including a small bottle of 



80 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

wine. Should jou. wish wine of a better quality, an allow 
ance is made for tlie ordinary wine supplied with the dinner, 
so that the better bottle costs you only the difference between 
the price af&xed to it and the price of the " Vin ordinaire.''^ 

The great advantage of living in this way is, that it enables 
one to determine his expenses accurately, which is impossible 
in living "a la caries -At the better class of these restaurants 
the meals are good enough for any one, and at all, except the 
very lowest, a plentiful allowance is served out. 

The traditional cheap restaurant, that which has been estab- 
lished from time immemorial in the Palais Royal and its 
vicinity, is the class furnishing dinners at two francs or two 
francs and a half. These are termed in popular parlance, 
" Forty Sou Restaurants." The dinner here includes a soup, 
fish, roast beef, or mutton, or some other kind of meat (you 
can take your choice), vegetables, bread ad UMtum, and a 
dessert. For two and a half francs a half bottle of red wine 
and a plate of fruit — usually the white grapes of Fontainbleau 
and a peach — are added. 

Other restaurants there are, which furnish meals at a still 
lower rate. They are patronized by those who cannot afford 
to do better. If you are influenced by a similar necessity, 
go there, but ask no questions as to what 3^ou are eating. 
Follow St. Paul's injunction to the letter, and 3^ou will never 
regret it. Your meal will be palatable, and you can eat it, 
only don't seek to analyze it if ytmr stomach is delicate. 
Breakfast may be had at these places, which are clean and 
neat in themselves, for fourteen sous (fourteen cents Ameri 
can money), while the price of dinner ranges from sixteen 
sous (sixteen cents), to twenty-five sous (twenty-five cents). 
From the advertisement of one of these j^laces, I take the fol- 
lowing bill of fare : 

Breakfast at fourteen sous. A dish of soup, a })late of meat. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 81 

a plate of vegetables, a simple dessert, bread at discretion, and 
a quarter-bottle of red wine. By the payment of two sous 
extra, a half bottle of wine or a bottle of beer may be had. 

Dinner at sixteen sous. A dish of soup, a plate of meat with 
vegetables, bread at discretion, a quarter- bottle of wine, and 
a dessert. A second plate of meat may be had on payment of 
two sous extra. 

Dinner at twenty-five sous. A dish of soup, a choice of three ■ 
plates of meat and vegetables, bread at discretion, half a. 
bottle of red wine, and a dessert. 

I have seen dinners advertised at eight sous, and I once- 
turned into an eating house in the old city for the purpose of 
trying it; but my stomach rebelled at the sights and sounds, 
around me, and I came away without making the experiment.. 

The " Restaurants d, la Carte " are decidedly the best in 
Paris, and of these the "Eestaurant of the Grand Hotel,"' 
which is open to the public as well as to guests of the house, 
is, in my humble judgment, the best. As I have said, the- 
prices at all these establishments are high. I take the fol- 
lowing from an old roll of bills. Here is the cost of a simple- 
breakfast at the Grand Hotel: 

f. c. 

Bread 1.00 

Coffee .50 

Beefsteak, with potatoes 2.2.5 

Total 3.75 

Here is another breakfast at the same place : 

f. c- 

Bread 1 00' 

Coffee ,50 

1 j^late of fried sausages 1.00 

Total 2..50 

6 



82 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Here is a dinner at the same place : 

f. c. 

Bread , 30 

Soup 75 

Beefsteak, with potatoes 2.25 

Vegetables 1.50 

Wine 4.00 

Fruit 2.00 

Total 10.80 

With a friend at dinner at the same place, the bill was as 
follows : 

f c. 

Bread 60 

Wine 7.00 

Soup 75 

Fish 2.50 

Roast Beef 2.00 

Vegetables 2.00 

Fruit 4.00 

Total 18.85 

From these statements, the reader will see that a dinner for 
two is cheaper than a dinner for one person only. Indeed, 
the allowance is so liberal that a dinner for two is really 
enough for three, and it is a common thing for friends to dine 
in this way, and thus reduce the expense per head. The pro- 
prietor does not object ; he receives the full value of the 
articles ordered, and if you choose to divide with a friend 
that is your own affair. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 83 

III. 

TABLES-D' HOTBS. 

The leading hotels of the city, besides being provided with 
restaiirants, have each a general table at which dinner is 
served, as in American hotels. The price of this meal varies. 
At the Grand Hotel it is eight francs, at the Grand Hotel du 
Louvre it is seven francs. At the Hotel Meurice, it is five 
francs. There are others at which the price is four francs, 
or four francs and a half. 

The table-d' hote is not restricted to the guests of the house. 
Any well dressed stranger may pay the price, walk in, and 
seat himself at the table. Some houses, however, are so 
popular that it is necessary to secure your place several days 
beforehand. The dinner hour is usually six o'clock. Guests 
are not allowed to enter the dining room of the Grand Hotel 
after seven o'clock. The table of this hotel is a sight worth 
seeing, as is also that of the H6tel du Louvre. The rooms 
are gorgeous, and the table is served in a style utterly be- 
yond anything seen in our own hotels. The company is 
brilliant, and the attendance excellent. 

At all the eating houses, whether they be hotels or restau- 
rants, the waiters expect a slight gratuity for themselves, 
usually about one sou upon each franc expended in the estab- 
lishment. This is deposited in a box, and each night the entire 
amount thus received is divided amongst the waiters. In the 
most popular establishments this usually amounts to a consider- 
able sum. Yery few of the waiters at these places receive 
regular wages. They live upon the gratuities of the guests, and 
many of them even pay the proprietor of the place for the privi- 
lege of serving in it. Of late years there has been considerable 
complaint upon this point from the Parisians. They assert 



84 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

that the American visitors have departed from the regular 
standard, and, by giving more than the usual gratuity, have 
unsettled the old customs and ruined the waiters. 



IV. 
SOUP HOUSES AND CREMBEIES. 

Within a few years past, a new class of eating houses has 
been established in Paris. These are called " Mablissments 
de Bouillon,^^ or in plain English " Soup houses." Soup, how- 
ever, is not the only commodity sold here, for both breakfasts 
and dinners of a very substantial kind may be obtained. 

A butcher, one M. Duval by name, was the originator of 
this system, and is the proprietor of no less than ten houses, 
situated in as many different parts of the city, and all con- 
ducted upon the same plan. Twenty thousand persons are 
said to obtain their meals at these places each day. 

Duval's best and largest establishment is situated in the 
Eue Montesquieu, just back of the Hotel du Louvre. It is 
an immense room, with a capacity for seating and serving a 
thousand people at the same time. The floor is lined with 
tables, and large galleries extend around the upper part. In the 
centre is the cooking apparatus, for in these establishments 
everything is done in the same room in full view of the guests. 
This department is in charge of a number of tidy girls, and 
everj^thing is as clean and neat as watchful labor can make it. 
The kettles shine like gold, and there is everything to assure 
you that the fare if plain, will be good and pure. 

As you enter, a man seated behind a counter near the door, 
hands you a bill of fare, which you take to your table. Bach 
dish on the list has its price affixed to it, and as the waiter 
Drings it to you, he checks it on the bill of fare with his 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 85 

pencil. Upon finishing your meal, you hand the bill to a 
woman sitting at a second counter near the door. She adds 
up the amount, stamps the bill and receives your money. 
Then giving the bill back to you, she requests you to leave 
it with the man in charge of the door as you go out. In this 
way a system of perfect checks is maintained, and M. Duval's 
employee's find it impossible to swindle him. Grirls are em- 
ployed as waiters in some of these establishments. 

The fare is plain but excellent. A bowl of first rate soup 
cost four sous (four cents), a plate of vegetables four sous, 
and a plate of roast meat seven or eight sous, according to its 
quality. Napkins are furnished, and if nsed are charged one 
sou, but if they are not used, no charge is made. These 
establishments are curiosities in their way, and should never 
be passed over by any visitor. 

The Gremerie is a different institution. It flourishes chiefly 
in the Latin Quarter, and is patronized principally by the 
students and Bohemian class in general. Here a large bowl 
of coffee or chocolate, or boiled milk — the milk being some- 
times boiled with rice — can be had for four sous, (four cents) ; 
fresh rolls cost one sou each ; and a little pat of reall}^ good 
butter, another sou. A beefsteak costs eight sous ; two eggs, 
five sous ; and a mutton chop, six sous ; so that one can 
breakfast heartily for about fourteen sous. These establish- 
ments usually furnish a simple dinner for about one franc. 
The cooking is plain, but everything is freshj and is neatly 
served. 

V. 

THE CHEAPEST OP ALL 

In the quarter inhabited by the rag-pickers, or "c/iz/- 
fonniers^'' there is a curious establishment called the " hasard 



86 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

de la fourcheite''' A mass of scraps, bought from the hotels 
and restaurants, is boiled in water in an immense iron pot, 
and a wretched soup prepared. The visitors are then in- 
formed, that upon the payment of two sous (two cents), each 
may make one thrust into the pot with a two-pronged iron 
fork, and have whatever he succeeds in bringing up, together 
with a plate of the soup. The pot contains all sorts of edi- 
bles, and one may bring up merely a crust of bread, or a 
fine piece of beef, or nothing at all. Only one thrust with the 
fork is allowed, and it is curious to see how the poor 
wretches enjoy the risk, the chance of this sad lottery. 
They seem to care more for the delightful uncertainty which 
attends their venture, than for the viands it may bring 
them. 

ISTow, go with me to the Halles Centrales^ the great market- 
house of the city. In one corner of this immense shed you 
will see, perhaps, the most curious collection of stalls to be 
found in the city. Meats of every description, cooked in 
every imaginable way — vegetables, cooked perhaps days 
ago, pieces of bread, crusts, old cakes, masses of rice, and 
perhaps the remains of some famous desserts — a queer mass 
of half-consumed provisions, gathered from all parts of 
Paris — are ranged in plates or piled up in heaps on the not 
over-clean shelves. This is the market of the poor of Paris. 
Here they come to buy the wretched food which furnishes 
their only sustenance. Stand aside, and watch them as they 
come up, tattered, ragged, squalid, blear-eyed, weak from 
long fasting, and dirty beyond expression. How their 
skinny hands tremble as they lay down their few sous ! and 
with what eagerness they clutch the scraps — scraps you 
would not give to a pet dog ! How ravenously they devour 
it, and how wistfully they gaze after the wretched store as 
they slink slowly away I That woman with the greasy bag 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 87 

in her hand, has come to purchase food for her little father- 
less ones at home. You can read in her face the story of her 
long and hard battle with want. She lays down six sous, 
and sweeps a mass of scraps into her bag. It is not a very 
large pile, but it is her daily allowance. She pauses as she 
turns away, and draws out from the bag a crust of bread. 
She is hungry. She has eaten nothing for hours, and she 
eyes the crust wistfully. The struggle is brief but sharp. 
Should she eat this bread, she will take from the children at 
home. The crust is dropped into the bag again, and the 
poor creature turns away mechanically and goes back to her 
little ones. Now, friend, go with me to the Champs de 
Mars at the next review, and I'll show you a Marshal of 
France, with his breast glittering with ribbons and orders, 
who never performed a deed half so heroic as the daily 
martyrdom of that poor woman, who is starving herself that 
her children may live. 

A recent writer in one of the London newspapers, furnishes 
the following curious facts in connection with this class of 
food. He says : 

"Amongst the curiosities of Paris life, decidedly are the 
small carts which from five to six every morning call at the 
back gates of embassies, palaces, minisieres, restaurants, hotels, 
and great houses in general, to purchase the remains of the 
entremets, desserts, and dinners in general, left, not by the 
upper ten thousand only, but likewise by their servants, and 
sold every morning by their cooks to the emissaries of a race 
of costermongers called 'arlequins,' whose stalls at the ' Ilalles' 
are furnished forth by these 'baked meats' which made their 
debut at the tables of those who rule our destinies. The carts 
are closed in, and recognizable by the sort of chimneys in the 
top to admit of free circulation of air ; the remains are thrown 
pele-mele into the carts, and paid for by weight. You may 



88 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. . 

imagine the aspect presented bj this olla podrida v/hen it 
reaches the ' arlequin ' stall. The first process is the triage, 
or sorting, a work of no small difficulty when portions of lob- 
ster d la Mayonnaise besmeared with soup a la Julienne have 
to be extracted from the remains of a fruit tart in which they 
are embedded. The most presentable morsels are pared, 
cleaned(?), and arranged on a dish ; this process taking place 
in some remote corner far from human ken, as, naturally, its 
mysteries would not attract customers. Strange to say, by 
twelve o'clock these scraps off rich men's plates are eagerly 
bought up by a certain class of poor who prefer the savory 
flavor to more wholesome food. What cannot be sufficiently 
pared and arranged for human appetite is sold for the food of 
pet house-dogs, Italian greyhounds, and such like aristocratic 
quadrupeds. The bones, however, found in this detritus are 
carefully put aside and sold to the manufacturers of concen- 
trated meat essence lozenges, and by them, after they have 
boiled them down, sold to the makers of animal black, much 
in demand by house painters, etc. But to return to our friends 
the ' arlequins.' Thistrade of buying up the remains of our 
friends' side dishes and second courses is by no means a bad 
one ; many of those who pursue it retire at the end of a few 
years on four or five hundred a year. Pas mall The next 
branch of this trade is the bakers en vieux, which reminds one 
of the sign which attracts many a true lover of antiquities, 
'Mori bond de Meubles Yieux.' Ancient furniture, even 
though stained by age and rust, we all appreciate ; but 
ancient bread, stained by ink and mould, we scarcely relish. 
Yet it is a remunerative trade to collect the crusts thrown 
away by college boys, or dropped by these careless youngs- 
ters in their playgrounds, trampled on and inked oftentimes, 
but gathered by chijfo^miers and sold to these second-hand 
bakers, and by them sorted. The cleanest of these soiled and 



, PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 89 

"uninviting crusts are dried in an oven, rasped, and then sold 
for the 'croute au pot,' with which soup all familiar with 
French cuisines are well acquainted. Furthermore, these 
choice bits of old bread are cut up into the three-cornered 
morsels which, fried in butter, adorn the dishes of the vege- 
tables, etc., we enjoy at our favorite restaurant. But there 
yet remains a mass of mud-stained, dust-soiled scraps which 
once were bread ; this is worked up in a mortar, pulverized, 
and sold as the chapelure hlanche in which our cutlets are 
dressed, or, to use the technical term, pane ; and as chapelure 
hrune which is sifted over the small hams called jamhonneaux. 
There still remains a dust which it has been impossible to 
work up ; this is blackened in the oven, and reduced to an 
impalpable black powder, mixed with honey, to which is 
added a few drops of peppermint, and sold as an infallible cure 
for toothache, for which ailment it is said to be quite as effi- 
cacious as anything 'recommended by the faculty.' " 



VI. 
THE "SPBCIALITE DE PUMPKIN PIE." 

From a work recently published, and from the pen of one 
who knew Paris well, I take the following description of a 
singular eating-house now well known to the American resi- 
dents of the city: * 

" There is a queer little place in one of the quiet streets in 
the vicinity of the Madeleine, which has become a shrine to 
which few Americans, coming to Paris, fail to make a pil- 
grimage, and, having once crossed the threshold, there is a 

* Sights and Sensations in France, Germany, and Switzerland. — By 
Edward Gould Buffum. 



90 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. . 

charm about the interior and its contents which irresistibly 
attracts them often back to it during their sojourn. This is 
the establishment of Madame Busque, and here is her card, 
a curiosity in its way, which would very seriously puzzle 
a foreigner other than one of English extraction : 





AUX AMERIOAINS, 




SPECIALITE DE PUMPKIN 


PIE. 




MME. BUSQUE, 




40 


RUE GODOT-DE MAUROI 40 




PEES LA MADELEINE, 






PARIS. 


■ 



" Over the door is the American coat-of-arms, the eagle 
and the arrows ; and if the sight of the emblem of his coun- 
try fails to send the blood coursing quicker through the 
veins of the American who sees it, the window is filled with 
articles, the first glance at which will certainly have this 
effect. These are pumpkin and mince and apple pies, and 
gingerbread and doughnuts ; all looking particularly nice 
and tempting. On the glass-door was originally painted, with 
an apparent consciousness of its literal truth, those cabalistic 
words, ' English spoken ;' but the Madame, who is not very 
' strong ' in her English, and who evidently desires to do 
nothing under a false pretence, has modified this by having 
painted beneath it, in brackets, ' a little,' so that the visitor 
who speaks no French, need not be disappointed as to the 
amount or purity of his native language which he will hear. 
At present, however, both the Madame and 'Charlie' are 
tolerably well up in the language, and their stock is inex- 
haustible upon anything relating to buckwheat-cakes and 
pumpkin-pies. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 91 

The establishment is a mystery and a wonderment to the 
uninitiated, who frequently stop and gaze with a certain sort 
of awe into the window. What these queer-looking things 
are, they can have no idea ; and then the cabalistic English 
words upon the window add to the bewilderment. There 
are two of these, however, which they can fully understand : 
' mince ' in French means ' thin,' and ' pie ' is the name of a 
species of bird ; and so their curiosity is in part satisfied at 
ascertaining the fact that one of the American 'specialties' is 
' thin magpie'. 

" Most of our countrymen who visit Paris, find out now 
the establishment of Madame Busque. Her register of 
visitors for the past ten years is a literary curiosity which 
should not be overlooked. Here are the names of ministers 
and ex-ministers and consuls, members of Congress, artists, 
authors, poets, journalists, and commoners. 

" Such is the ' Specialite de Pumpkin Pie,' Long may it 
flourish, and long may good Madame Busque preside over its 
destinies. It is really a pleasant little oasis in the great 
desert of Paris, and no American Avho loves his country and 
her institutions, visiting the world's capital, should neglect to 
renew his devotion to them by going there and eating his 
fill." 



lY. 

PARISIAIi DROES. 
I. 

POPULAR BEYERAaBS. 

"When a Parisian awakes in the morning, bis first thought 
is 'to call for something to drink; not the vile liquors with 
which we dwellers in the western world poison ourselves, but 
simply a refreshing and stimulating cup of cafe au lait, or, in 
plain English, coffee with milk. This done, he receives his 
letters, reads them in bed, lies for awhile half in sleep, half 
in thought, and then rises and dresses for the day. 

At his second breakfast, between eleven o'clock and noon, 
he has another cup of coffee, into which he will perhaps pour 
a thimble-ful of cognac, not a preparation of fusil oil, like 
that sold in our own saloons, but the pure distillation of the 
grape. During the day he may refresh himself with a bottle 
of wine, and empty another at his dinner; but these are 
merely the necessities of his life. He reserves his drinking 
for pleasure until the evening settles down over the city, and 
he seeks his favorite co/e to see the world and be seen by it. 

At the cafes in the evening, the first thing usually called 
for is coffee. One does not ask for a whole cup, but modestly 
requests the waiter to bring him ime demie-tasse, half a cup. 
This is a small cup, sometimes of a hard white ware, but often 
of the finest china ware, and the waiter, with an eye to his 
92 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 9^5 

pour hoire (drink money), takes care that the liquid shall over- 
flow the cup and fill the saucer. This receives the name 
of bain de pied^ or foot-bath, and is rigidly exacted of the 
waiter by all true Frenchmen. The contents of the cup ex- 
hausted, the foot-bath shares the same fate, to the intense dis- 
gust of the English visitors, who denounce it as " drinking 
slops." The beverage thus served, is cafe noir^ black coffee, 
and is drank without milk. Most persons mix with it a little 
brandy, or pour a small quantity of brandy over a lump of 
sugar in a teaspoon resting on the coffee, and setting fire to 
the liquor burn away the alcohol, a process which they claim 
improves the coffee. 

After coffee, a small glass of cognac is taken. This is 
called \h.Q petit verre. Few Frenchmen could sleep without it, 
and as a general rule the cafe noir and the petit verre will con- 
sume three or four hours' time. 

Others again, neglect the cafe and the cognac^ and confine 
themselves to a bottle of wine, either " ordinary " or a higher 
priced brand. Beer, made either at Lyons, Strasbourg,' or 
Lille, besides a more inferior quality, is also a common drink. 
It costs about six cents a glass for the Strasbourg beer, which 
is the strongest and best, but even this is inferior to the beer 
and ale made in this country and in England. 

Some persons pour a table-spoonful of brandy into a tum- 
bler of water, and make a weak " grog," which they seem to 
relish very much. 

A favorite drink is ecm sucre, or sugar and water, made by 
dissolving several lumps of white sugar in water. You may 
see scores of Frenchmen sitting for hours, each over a glass 
of this harmless and, to all but them, sickening liquid. 

Li former years, ladies drank sherbets or sorbets, made of 
the syrup of red currants, barley-water and the like, but for 
some time past they have come to share the drinks of the 



94 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

sterner sex. Take a dozen cafes in as many different parts 
of Paris, and you will find no difference between the contents 
of the glasses of the two sexes. Indeed, if I have not ob- 
served wrongly, the women really drink harder than the men. 

Let me not be misunderstood. Though the Parisian appe- 
tite ranges over a wide field, it leads to comparatively little 
actual drunkenness. Perhaps there is less drunkenness in 
this city than in any other large city in the world. Your 
Frenchman has a horror of becoming intoxicated. His vanity 
makes him anxious to be always himself, and causes him to 
dread becoming ridiculous, besides which he shrinks from the 
low spirits and sickness which follow a debauch. Yet, when 
he does drink hard, he throws aside all restraint, and plunges 
into the sea of dissipation with a recklessness and a fury per- 
fectly appalling. In Paris especially this horror of the bestial 
state to which drunkenness reduces a man, and this furious, 
reckless style of drinking are carried to the greatest extremes. 
As a rule, however, drunkenness is not common, and the Pa- 
risians are a comparatively sober people. I once spent two 
weeks in watching for drunken men, and during that period 
saw only four or five who were too much under the influence 
of liquor to control themselves. One of the days of this fort- 
night was the 15th of August, when Paris was full of strangers. 

On the Boulevard des Italiens, not far from the Cafe Tor- 
toni^ is a gorgeous palace, ornamented with the star spangled 
banner and the arras of the Great Eepublic. A splendid 
display of gilt letters along the front of the handsome balcony 
informs the passer by that it is an " American Bar-room," 
where American drinks, pure and simple, are sold. Attracted 
by this sign, as well as by the general magnificence of the 
place, I entered it one night as I was strolling homeward 
from the Opera, with my head full of the wonderful strains 
of The Prophet. I asked for a glass of "American soda," 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 95 

and was given a large tumbler of a reddish liquor mixed 
with pounded ice, and provided with two fine wheat straws. 
How the "drink" was mixed, of what it was made, I am to- 
day profoundly ignorant ; but one thing I do know — it was 
not soda, nor anything I had ever seen in my own land. It 
was purely a French invention, and — it was very good. The 
"drinks" sold here may be American in principle, but they 
are not so in fact. The truth is, American " drinks" are too 
fiery to suit the delicate Parisian taste, and the genius who 
presides over this " bar-room" is compelled to moderate or 
disguise them until the majority have lost their national 
characteristics. After all, however, I think the French are 
sensible — whiskey, gin, and rum were never intended for a 
Christian stomach. » 

Still, statisticians tell us that drunkenness is increasing in 
Paris, and that it will eventually be necessary for the Govern- 
ment to interfere and check it. I am not prepared either to 
confirm or dispute this assertion, but it is certain that the 
average annual consumption of wine, beer, and spirits, is 
about twenty-eight gallons for each man, woman, and child 
residing within the fortifications. The a^iount of brandy and 
other strong liquors consumed is increasing annually, and 
the amount of wine consumed is decreasing in a similar ratio. 
Thus far, drunkenness is confined principally to the lower 
classes, poor wretches whose lot is already sufficiently 
miserable. 

There are yet other and more harmless beverages very 
popular with the ouvriers. You may see men going about 
the streets with queer little tin jars resembling an American 
water-cooler, ornamented with flags, and strapped to their 
backs. They announce their presence by ringing a bell and 
shouting out the price of their wares. They are commonly 
termed " Coco merchants," " Coco" being a weak decoction of 



96 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

liquorice and water. The Frencti are very fond of it, but 
I have yet to see an American or Englishman who can boast 
more than one trial of it. 

Lemonade stands are scattered all through the city. The 
beverage is sold at one sou per glass. It is made by squeez- 
ing half a dozen lemons into a two gallon bucket of water, 
sweetening it with a handful of white sugar, and adding 
enough liquorice to take away whatever taste of the lemons 
may have accidentally remained in the mixture. Try it, and 
you will never repeat the experiment. 



II. 
A GLASS OP ABSINTHE. 

It is four o'clock in the afternoon, and Paris is beginning 
to think of its dinner. Could you stand on the Vendome 
Column, or some such lofty height, and gaze down upon the 
thousands of cafes scattered through the great city, you 
would see thousands of guests sitting at the little tables 
drinking a greenish liquor, which they sip with an eagerness 
that gives the lie to the assertion that they take it merely to 
give them an appetite for dinner. The liquor is known as 
Absinthe^ and is growing in popularity every year. Thous- 
ands — tens of thousands — of persons drink it in Paris, and 
large quantities are shipped to our own country. You will 
find it in almost any of our fashionable restaurants or bar- 
rooms. There are shops in Paris where nothing else is sold, 
and which, from early morning until late in the night, drive 
a thriving trade in this im.son. 

In view of the rapid increase in the demand for this liquor 
in the United States, I beg to call the reader's attention to 
the following description of it, from the pen of the late 



^^m^^^m 



p 'I 









97 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 99 

Edward Gould Buffum. I give this extract in preference to 
any remarks of my own : 

" Medical science has turned its attention to the effects of 
this poisonous compound, and in a paper recently submitted 
to the Academy of Medicine by M. Motet, the whole subject 
is treated in a manner which shows that he has carefully ex- 
amined it. He says that the habitual use of absinthe produces 
a series of pathological manifestations extremely grave, and 
differing essentially from the effects produced by other alco- 
holic drinks; and although the effects of large doses, or of 
the habitual use of this liquor, are now well known, the 
drinker, upon whom the habit of using it has been fastened, 
returns to it in obedience to an almost irresistible fascination 
while aware that it is destroying him. 

" Body and mind crumble alike under the influence of this 
terrible liquor. It destroys all the finer feelings and more 
delicate sensibilities of human nature ; it absorbs all the 
faculties ; burns and corrodes the body ; extinguishes the 
memory ; and annihilates the senses. Of the best constituted 
man, either physically or intellectually, its constant use will, 
sooner or later, make a skeleton, an animal — a brute. 

" '■Ahsinthe^^ which simply means ' wormwood,' is made by 
the distillation of a number of plants — the tops of wormwood, 
flag-root, anise-seed, angelica-root, leaves of littany {origanum 
dictarauus), and sweet marjoram. All these are macerated, 
and placed in alcohol of very high proof, and permitted to 
remain eight days, when the mixture is distilled, half an 
ounce of the essential oil of anise being added to each three 
gallons. The first care, after the distillation, is to see whether 
the liquor is of a good color, and whether it will ' whiten' well ; 
and should it be found lacking in these essential points, it is 
brought up to the jDroper standard with ibdigo, tincture of 



100 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

curcuma, hyssop, nettles, and sulphate of copper (the ordinary 
' blue vitriol '). 

^'■Absinthe, however, requires none of these adulterations to 
constitute it a positive poison. Composed of plants of highly 
exciting qualities, united witli the strongest alcohol, it acts 
directly upon the nervous system, having a much more 
speedy and positive effect than other alcoholic liquors. In- 
deed, one of the principal charms which makes the vile com- 
pound so popular, is the almost immediate delightfully stimu- 
lating effect it has upon the brain. In the process of distillation, 
the plants furnisb several volatile oils, which are among the 
most virulent poisons. Probably few persons, in mixing 
their absinthe (which, among professional drinkers, is consid- 
ered a great art), have ever stopped to consider the cause of 
the ' whitening' or ' clouding', or ever thought that the better 
the liquor 'mixes,' the more powerfully poisonous it is. The 
white deposit which, in precipitating, renders it turbid, comes 
from the essential oils, which are held in solution by alcohol, 
but which are insoluble in water or weak spirits. 

" The effects of the constant use of this villanous liquor, 
which a friend once said, ' is kept in glass bottles simply be- 
cause it would eat through the staves of any ordinarj- barrel 
in fifteen minutes !' are summed up in a sentence, by Dr. 
Motet, as a general poisoning of the system, which terminates 
in insanity and death. Among the symptoms which precede 
the final result, are uncertaint}^ and indecision of the muscu- 
lar system, easily recognized by contractions and trembling 
of the forearm, of the hand, and the inferior members. 
Strange sensations are observed — such as tingling and prick- 
ing of the skin, heaviness of the limbs, and numbness, the 
hand seizing, and as suddenly letting go, any object within 
its reach. The patients are weak in the legs, and, in stand- 
ing, require something to lean against ; the knees tremble 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 101 

and bend ; a general air of sadness and hebetude settles upon 
the features ; the lips, the tongue, and the muscles of the face 
are tremulous ; the eye is sunken and sorrowful ; the skin 
assumes a 3'ellowish hue. Dyspepsia and wasting away fol- 
low ; the mucous membrane becomes of a violet color ; the 
hair comes out; and the entire framework of the man falls 
into a premature old age and dilapidation. 

" Such are the bodily symptoms of absinthe poison ; and 
the mental troubles progress concurrently with the disorders 
of the muscular system. Owing to. the progress of the dis- 
ease of the brain, the sleep of the patient is disturbed; he 
has terrible dreams and nightmares, And sudden awakings, 
as though he had been shot from the mouth of a cannon ; he 
is troubled with hallucinations, illusions, blinding of the 
eyes, and hypochondria ; exhibits a very marked embarrass- 
ment and dwelling upon words when speaking, and a con- 
stantly decreasing strength of intellect. Such is, in a few 
words, the sad cortege of symptoms presented by the victims 
of the terrible absinthe poison — a cortege which only precedes 
another one following them to the sfrave. 

"Nothing," says Dr. Motet, "can arrest the progress of 
the brain disease. Sometimes the symptoms will be more 
favorable for a longer or shorter period, but the respite must 
not be considered as a sign of approaching cure ; and, a little 
sooner or a little later, death stalks in, in the midst of epi- 
leptic attacks, at a time when there is scarcely any human 
intelligence remaining — when the animal alone exists, and in 
a state of degradation of which no description can convey 
an adequate idea. 

" This is certainl}^ not a cheerful picture to contemplate, 
nor is it agreeable to think that this is a fate in store for 
those thousands of cheerful, healthj^-looking men, young and 
middle-aged, who daily sip their absinthe on the Boulevards. 



102 PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Death and insanity, the result of its habitual use, are very- 
common in Paris ; and on the tombstones of not a few of 
the prominent men in the literary and artistic world, whose 
lights have gone out during the past ten years, might with 
truth be written, ' Died of absinthe.' 

"So deleterious have been the effects of this liquor, that 
the French government has prohibited its use in the army 
and navy, even to the officers, and an attempt is now being 
made to extend the same restrictions to the other colonies 
which has been made in regard to Tahiti. And yet, with 
all these terrible facts brought to ligh^, it is by no means 
probable that the use of this murderous beverage is de- 
creasino;." 



T. 

THE STREETS OE PARIS. 
I. 

THE STREETS. 

To learn tlie names and locations of the streets of Paris is 
a feat wliich, in all probability, no one will ever accomplish. 
Even the wise-looking Sergens de Ville are *not. equal to it, 
and each one of them is furnislied with a printed book contain- 
ing a list of the names and location of every street, passage, 
and other thoroughfare in the city. Strangers losing their 
way, should at once apply to these obliging gentlemen, whose 
little books will indicate the quickest and most direct means 
of setting them right, 

Paris at present contains 1,500 streets,MO carrefours^ or 
open squares in which several streets terminate ; 15 courts, 
40 lanes, 135 blind alleys, or narrow streets closed at one end; 
7 closes, and 10 cloisters. Take the map of the city, and 
examine it, and you will find yourself completely bewildered 
by the maze of streets running in every conceivable direction, 
and it will require only a few minutes to convince you of the 
utter impossibility of getting the whole plan mapped out in 
your mind. 

The streets of old Paris were, in many instances, built be- 
fore wheeled vehicles came into use, and nearly all of them 
were bailt in utter disregard of this means of locoyiotion. 

103 



104 PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

The visitor of to-day will still find many of the streets, on the 
south side especially, so narrow that the wheels of his car- 
riage rub the curbstone on each side, and there are yet a few 
into which no vehicle of any kind can penetrate; but the 
majority of the old "rues'' have disappeared before the im- 
provements of Napoleon III., to the grief of the lovers of 
the picturesque, but to the great joy of the inhabitants. 
These old streets were rarely more than six feet wide, and the 
houses were five and six stories high. The upper stories 
projected over the street, and almost closed the opening. 
Persons at opposite windows could converse in whispers. 
The pavement was of cobble-stones, a gutter, usually choked 
with filth, being sunk in the middle. The sunlight never 
shone into the street, and the gloom and the dirt were horrible. 
Equally bad was the sanitary condition of the houses. They 
were dark, unventilated, damp, and dirty. The inhabitants 
were wretchedly poor, and lived in a state compared with 
which, the condition of the dwellers in the most wretched 
New York tenement-house, is one of luxury. Victor Hugo, 
in the opening chapters of his Notre Dame de Paris, gives an 
admirable description of these wretched thoroughfares. In 
our engraving, entitled " A Street of Old Paris," the reader 
will find a faithful sketch of one of these streets — the flimous 
old Ru-e aux F^ves, which was demolished in February, 1862. 
The drawing was made a few days before its demolition, by 
Gustave Dore, for MM. Hachette & Co., of Paris, and by 
them furnished expressly for this work. It is the onl}^ sou- 
venir of this famous old street, famous by reason of its ex- 
treme narrowness, its sinister aspect, its filth, and the wretched 
class which inhabited it. It was in this street that the noted 
cabaret of the AVhite Eabit (Lajnn Blanc) stood. 

The names of the old streets date principallj^ from the 
reign of Philip Augustus, who was the first to establish a 







A Street of Old Paris. Demolished in 1862. 



105 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 107 

commission of public roads {cjrande voirie)^ and to classify and 
determine the names of the thoroughfares. These names had 
various origins. Some streets were named from churches 
and chapels located on them, some from convents and relig- 
ious orders, some from saints, bishops, and monks, some from 
the hotels or pal^es of the nobles situated upon them, some 
took the names of the nobles themselves, some were called 
after prominent and popular citizens, and soiiie took their 
names from the principal avocations carried on within them, 
each trade or profession usually confining itself to a distinct 
locality. Historical events have also had their' share in as- 
signing these names. In the Rue Pierre Levee (street of the 
raised stone), the ancient Druids once set up their sacrificial 
altar. It was through the Rue des Martyrs that Saint Denis, 
Saint Rustique, and Saint £leuth^re were led to the heights 
of Montmartre where they sealed their faith with their lives. 
The Rue des Frondeurs, was the spot where the first barricades 
of the Fronde were thrown up in 1648. The Rue des Francs- 
Bourgeois was exempt from taxation. The Rue d' Enfer (street 
of hell), at first called the Via Inferior^ to distinguish it from 
its neighbor, the Rue St. Jacques^ owes its present name to a 
corruption of Via Inferior^ which occurred in the time of St. 
Louis, and to the fact that at the same time the old Chateau 
de Vauvert, which stood in this street, was believed to be 
haunted by the devil. 

At present, the most celebrated, as well as the finest streets 
in Paris are those which follow : 

The Rue de Rivoli, named by ISTapoleon I., in honor of his 
victory over the Austrians in 1797, is, perhaps, the most mag- 
nificent street in the world. It extends from the Place de la 
Concorde to the Rue- Culture Sainte- Catharine^ and is continued 
from this point to the Bastille by the Rue St. Antoine. It was 
begun by Napoleon I. in 1802, and completed by Napoleon 



108 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

III. in 1865. That portion from the Place de la Concorde 
to the Rue Castiglione was cut through the possessions of the 
old Feuillants Convent and a number of private gardens. The 
space extending from the Eue Castiglione to the Tuileries 
was occupied bj the Manege^ or riding school of the palace, 
and it was in this Manege that the Convention of the Great 
Eevolution held its first sessions. From a little beyond the 
palace of the Tuileries to the Hotel de Yille, was a dense mass 
of lofty houses and narrow streets,, forming one of the worst 
quarters of old Paris, and one which had given great trouble to 
the Government. The present Emperor swept all these away, 
and extended the street to the Eue St. Antoine. Those who 
never saw the old quarter which was thus demolished can but 
faintly realize what a wonderful work Avas this clearance. 
The street is about two miles long, and is one of the widest 
in the city. On the south side are the Tuileries and the Louvre 
and their gardens, the Place du Louvre, the gardens and tower 
of St. Jacques de la Boucherie, and the Hotel de Yille. On 
the north side, starting from the Place de la Concorde, are the 
Hotel Talleyrand^ the Mimsth^e des Finances (Treasury), Hotels 
Meurice^ Windsor^ and Brighton^ Galignani's Library, Place 
du Palais Boy al, and the Orand Hotel du Louvre. The houses 
on this street are uniform in architecture, and give to its 
splendors a rather monotonous appearance. The street floor 
is occupied by shops, which open upon a magnificent row of 
arcades which cover the sidewalks. Between each arch a gas 
lamp is swung, and these when lighted form an unbroken line 
of light two miles in length. The effect is very fine. To- 
gether with the Rue St. Antoine^ the streets leading from the 
Place de la Bastille, and the Avenue des Champs Ehjsees.^ the Rue 
de Bivoli forms a direct line of communication for military 
and other purposes from one end of Paris to the other. 
The Rue de Castiglione extends fi-om the Rue de Rivoli to 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



109 



tlie Place VendOme. It was built by Napoleon I., and called 
after his victory of the 5th of August, 1796. It occupies 
the site of the old Convent of the Feuillants, is lined with 
arcades like the Rue de Rivoli^ is bordered by the Treasury, 
several hotels, and a number of fine shops, and is one of the 
handsomest streets in Paris. 

The Rxie de la Paix besfins on the side of the Place Ven- 
dCme facing the Rue Castiglione^ and extends to the intersection 





Kue de la Paix. 



of tlie Bonlerard des Capucines, and the square of the New 
Opera. It occupies the site of an old Capuchin convent, and 
was built in 1807. Until 1814 it was known as the Rue Na- 
poUon, but after the return of the Bourbons, it was called by 
its present name. Several fine hotels — Miraheaic, De la Paix, 
Hollande, Westminster, and Douvres — are on this street, which 
is said to contain more wealth than any other of the same 
length in Europe. The shops are the most magnificent in 
Paris, and the display of jewels and other valuables to be 



110 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

seen here is unrivalled. The upper floors are occupied as 
residences by the fashionable and wealthy citizens. 

The Rue Si. Sonore is a long, irregular street extending 
fiom the vicinity of the Halles Centrales to the Rue Roycde^ 
opposite the Madeleine. Thence it is continued, under the 
name of the Rue du Faubourg St. Sonore, to the Avenue de 
Wagram. Until the completion of the Rue de Rivoli, it was 
the main thoroughfare of the city from east to west, along 
the Seine. It became a noted street in the fourteenth cen- 
tury, in consequence of a number of fine shops being estab- 
lished in it. Henry IV. was assassinated in front of the 
house No. 3, which is near the new market {Halles Centrales), 
and in August, 161:8, a collision between the troops and the 
people, in this street, began the troubles of the Fronde. In 
1720, after the bursting of the great financial bubbles, Law 
took refuge in the Palais Eoyal from the furious mob he 
had victimized, and his carriage was torn to pieces in this 
street ; in July, 1830, the first blow of the Eevolution, which 
sent Charles X. into exile, was struck here in front of the 
Palais Royal ; and one of the fiercest contests of the struggle 
of 1848 took place almost on the same spot. 

The Avenue Victoria was opened in 1855. It is a magnifi- 
cent street, is lined with handsome shade-trees and splendid 
houses, and extends from the Rue des Lavandihes, across the 
Place du Chdtelet to the Place de V Hdtel de Villc. It was 
named in honor of the present Queen of England. 

The Rue de Richelieu extends from tlie Palais Roj^al to 
the Boulevard des IiaUe?is, and is well built, though not very 
wide. It is lined with fine shops, and contains the Theatre 
Fran^ais, and Imperial Library. 

The Rue de Lafayette is a broad and splendid street, newlv 
built, extending from the square of the New Opera to the 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. Ill 

Place de la Rotonde. It is one of the finest streets in tlie city, 
and is lined with handsome shops. 

The Rue Vivienne is a fashionable shopping street, as are 
also the Rue de la Ohaussee<r Antin and the Rue du Bac. 

The most fashionable streets are also devoted to business. 
The street-floor is occupied with shops, while the upper floors 
are used as dwellings. Perhaps the finest residences may be 
seen in that part of the city lying between the New Opera 
and the Arc de Triomphe de VEtoile. 



II. 

THE BOULEVARDS. 

"When the peace of Aix la Chapelle, in 1668, convinced 
Louis XIV, that his Capital was safe for some time to come, 
the great king pulled down the fortifications of the city, and 
laid off" the space they had occupied in a series of magnificent 
streets, which were called Boulevai-ts, or bulwarks; the name 
indicating the use to which the ground had been put. The 
true, or Interior Boulevards were begun in 1670, when the 
old walls of the city were destroyed. They extend from the 
Madeleine to the Bastille, and are the most popular and 
crowded streets in the city. When first laid out, they were 
thickly planted with shade-trees. These trees remained un- 
disturbed until the Revolution of 1830, when they were cut 
down to form barricades. Others were planted after the res- 
toration of order, but they shared the fate of their predeces- 
sors, in 1818, and the present Government, profiting by this 
double lesson, has refrained from planting any more. 

At all hours of the day these streets are thronged with vehi- 
cles and pedestrians, and, especially at night, present a bril- 
liant spectacle. They are flooded with gaslight both from the 



112 PAKIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

street lamps, and from the windows of the shops, cafts and 
theatres, and the side walks are filled and often blockaded 
with thousands of pleasure seekers of both sexes and of all 
ages and conditions. 

Starting from the church of the Madeleine, one traverses 
the Boulevard de la Madeleine, which two hundred yards from 
the church, changes to the Boulevard des Capucines. On the 
left are the Grand Sotel and the Neio Opera^ opposite which 
is the splendid Bue de la Paix. At the Bus Ghaussee-d^ Aniin, 
it changes to the Boulevard des Baliens, the brightest and 
gayest of all. Here the crowd is thickest, the shops are most 
superb, aiad the display of goods in the windows unequalled 
by any in the world. On the left is the Bue Lepelletier with 
the Grand Opera^ and on the right the Opera Comique. The 
street now bends slightly to the right, following the line of 
the old walls, and is called the Boulevard Mo7itmartre, the 
beautiful rival of its Italian neighbor. The Boulevard Pois- 
sonniere, extending from the termination of the street just 
named, to the Bue du Poissonnilre, is quite handsome, but 
its neighbor, the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle is not so magnifi- 
cent. "We are now at the Porte St. Benis, and from here to 
the Porte St. Martin^ the street is called the Boulevard St. 
Benis, and is crossed by the magnificent Boulevard de Stras- 
bourg. The Boulevard St. Martin extends from the old gate 
of that name to the Chateau d^Eau, and turning sharp to the 
left is continued to the Place de la Bastille under the names of 
the Boulevard du Temple, Boulevard des^Filles du Calvaire, and 
and Boulevard Beaumarchais. From the Bastille the Boule- 
vards d' Arsenal and de Bourdon continue to line the Seine, 
opposite the Jardin des Plantes. The principal theatres and 
places of amusement are situated on the inner boulevards. 
A sfjcond series, known as the Outer Boulevards, occupies 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



113 



the site of the old Octroi wall. They are inhabited chiefly 
by the poorer classes. 

The term Boulevard has also been given to several of the 
new streets constructed by the present Emperor. They are 
among the most magnificent in the world, and traverse the 
city in various directions. The principal are as follows: 

The Bouhvard des Malesherbes, extending from the Made- 
leine to the Park of Monceaux. It is occupied principally 
with private residences. 




Boulevard Ricliard Leuoir, 



The Boulevard de Haussmann, extending from the Arc de 
Tnomphe to the Hue Auher, by which it communicates with 
the square of the New Opera. It crosses the street named 
above. 

The Boulevard de la Reine Hortense^ named after the mother 
of the present Emperor, extending from the Arc de Triomphe 
to the Park of Monceaux. 



114 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

The Boulevard de Richard Lenoir, extending from the 
Place de la Bastille to the Donane. The centre is planted 
with trees, and consists of an archway covering the Canal St. 
Martin which flows beneath, and is lighted and ventilated bv 
shafts from the street. 

The Boulevard du Prince Engine, extending from the 
Chateau d Eau to the Place du Trdne. It is two miles long, 
and is one of the handsomest streets in the city. 

The Boulevard de Sebastopol, a magnificent street, extending 
from the station of the Strasbourg Eailway, across the Seine 
to the Observatory. It is very wide, and is lined with shade- 
trees and splendid buildings. Between the railway depot 
and the Boulevard St. Denis, it is called the Boulevard de 
Strasbourg. The portion lying on the south side of the river 
is called the Boulevard Saint Michel. 



III. 

PASSAGES AND CITES. 

Paris' possesses a number of passages, or galleries, a sort 
of covered street, practicable only for foot-passengers, and 
affording short cuts from one street to another. They are 
lined with shops and eating-houses. Some years ago they 
were famous lounging places, but have gone down very 
much of late, the shops being now principally second-rate 
establishments. At night they still present a curious and 
attractive appearance, and are richly worth seeing. 

The Passage Choiseul, between the Rue Neuve-des-Petits- 
Qhamps and the Rue Neuve-St. Augustin, is famous for its 
oranges, and is much frequented. 

The Passage de V Opera, on the Boulevard des Italiens, be- 
tween the Rue Brouot and the Rue Lepelletier, leads to the 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 115 

vestibule of the Grand Opera. It contains a reading-room, 
and is one of the finest passages in the city. 

The Passage des Panoramas unites the Boulevard Mbntmartre 
with the Pues Vivienne, St. Marc, and Montmartre. It is 
divided into several galleries, and furnishes one of the finest 
sights of Paris. 

The Oites are streets built by private individuals, and on 
private property. They are not public thoroughfares. Some 
of them are lined with magnificent edifices, and are the 
privileged resorts of wealth, while others form places of 
refuge for the poor and wretched. The Cite Dore^ in the^ 
Quartier des Deux-Moulins^ is formed of plaster- work and 
boards, and is inhabited by the poorest rag pickers of the' 
Thirteenth Arrondissement. 



VI. 

PUBLIC PLACES k^J) FOUNTAINS. 

I. 

PLACES AND SQUARES. 

Paris possesses a number of handsome open places and 
squares, some of which are full of historical interest. I shall 
mention only the most prominent. 

The Place cle la Concorde occupies the immense space lying 
between the Champs Elysdes on the west, and the Gardens of 
the Tuileries on the east, and the Seine on the south, and a 
row of private hotels and Minisilre de la Marine on the north. 
It is the largest and most magnificent of all the public places 
of Paris, and is about one thousand feet long by eight hun- 
dred feet wide. The Pont cle la Concorde connects it with 
the Palace of the Legislative Body, on the south side of the 
Seine ; and on the north, the Bue Boy ale, a magnificent 
street, stretches away to the Madeleine. Pour fine avenues 
radiate from the centre of the square. Eight colossal statues 
of French cities — Lille, Strasbourg, Bordeaux, Nantes, Mar- 
seilles, Brest, Rouen, and Lyons — are ranged around the 
square ; and two splendid fountains are placed on each side 
(north and -south) of the obelisk. 

In the centre of the Place stands the famous obelisk of 
Luxor. " This magnificent monolith of red Egyptian granite, 
(syenite), was one of two, of like size and shape, which stood 
116 



^-^^^-^■^2 











::iffl|Pjinj!|jij|ii'ijf' 



117 



\ 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 119 

at the entrance of the great temple of Thebes (now Luxor), 
where it was erected by Remeses the Great, commonly called 
Sesostris, B. C, 1350 ; as is commemorated in the three rows 
of deep, sharply cut, and well preserved hieroglyphic car- 
touches on its sides. Mahomed Ali, Pasha of Egypt, pre- 
sented it to the French Government, at the same time that 
he gave its fellow to the English, who have never taken the 
trouble to remove it. The removal of such a mass, weighing 
two hundred and forty tons, was a work of great difficulty and 
expense; bat it was ably performed under the direction of the 
engineer Lebas, who had in his employ eight hundred men. 
After casing it in timber, for safety, he lowered it by skil- 
fully arranged tackle, and transported it across the sands to a 
vessel built expressly in France to transport it. In this it de- 
scended, the Nile to Alexandria, whence a steamer towed it 
in safety to Cherbourg, where it arrived in 1833. The ele- 
vation of the obelisk on its present site, a masterly operation 
of French engineering, took place in 1836, in the presence of 
Louis Philippe and 150,000 spectators. A model o*f the inge- 
B^ous apparatus employed may be seen in the Conservatoire 
des Arts et Metiers, and on tlie pedestal are cut, in gilt out- 
lines, views representing the means adopted to remove and 
raise the obelisk to its present position. The height of tins 
obelisk is seventy-four feet four inches ; its width seven feet 
six inches at the base, which rests on a block of granite from 
Brittany, thirteen feet two inches higher and five feet five 
inches square; it weighs 500,000 pounds, and the cost of 
transport and elevation amounted to 2,000,000 francs. Near 
the top, which is unfmislied, cracks are to be seen, and it is 
said that they are extending under the damp and variable 
climate of Paris." * 

* Murray's Hand-Book of Paris. 



120 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Previous to the year 1748, this square was simply an open 
field lying between the Champs Elysees and the Tuileries 
Garden. In that year the municipal authorities of Paris re- 
ceived permission from Louis XV. to erect a bronze statue 
of his Majesty in the centre of the open space. This was done 
in 1763, and the place handsomely laid off very much after 
the present plan. In 1770 there was a grand display of fire- 
works here, in honor of the marriage of the Dauphin (Louis 
XVI.), with the Archduchess of Austria (Marie Antoinette). 
A rocket accidentally exploding in the crowd, caused a stam- 
pede, in which 1,200 persons were trodden to death or smoth- 
ered, and 2,000 more injured. 

On the 12th of August, 1792, the day after the attack upon 
the Tuileries by the mob, the National Convention ordered 
the statue of Louis XV. to be taken down and melted into can- 
non and coins. The next year, a huge statue of Liberty, of 
painted clay, was erected on the old pedestal, and the name 
of the square changed to Place de la Revolution. 

Its chief interest, however, lies in the melancholy tragedies 
which occurred here. On the 21st of January, 1793, the 
Guillotine was set up a few yards to the west of the spot now 
occupied by the obelisk, and on the same day the head of 
Louis XVI. was severed from his body. It was a thoroughly 
Prench idea, but it does seem to have been the refinement of 
cruelty to kill the king right under the windows of his own 
palace, for the doomed monarch had but to cast "his eyes 
across the pretty gardens to rest them on the yellow fayade 
of the Tuileries. 

After the execution of the King the Guillotine was re- 
moved to the Place du Carrousel^ where it remained for a few 
months, but in May, 1793, it was again set up on the spot 
where Louis had died, and remained there until June, 1794. 
Daring this period, the weird knitters who sat like so many 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 121 

fates around the scaffold, counted 1,235 heads, as they fell 
into the basket below. On the 17th of July, 1793, Charlotte 
Corday was executed here ; on the 16th of October, Marie 
Antoinette was re-united to her husband ; on the 9th of No- 
vember, the beautiful and noble Madame Eoland was be- 
headed here ; and on the 14th of the same month, Philippe 
Egalit^ paid this price for his Republican principles. On the 
10th of May, 1791, Madame Elizabeth, the sister of Louis 
XVI. was executed here. 

After this, the Guillotine was removed to the Place de la 
Bastille, and then to the Barrih-e du Trdne. At the downfall 
of Eobespierre it was brought back to its old place ; and 
here, on the 28th of July, Eobespierre and twenty-one of 
his associates were put to death. Two days later, eighty-two 
fresh victims were added to the horrid list. They were 
chiefly the judges and officers of the Eevolutionary Tribu- 
nal and the Commune de Paris, who had been so active in 
sending others to the scaffold. 

In 1799, the square was named Place de la Concorde] and 
in 1814, it was occupied by the Eussian and Prussian troops; 
and in 1815, by the English army. After the Eestoration, 
the name was changed again to Place Louis X V. ; and in 
1826, it was called Place Louis XVI., in consequence of the 
adoption of a plan to build an expiatory monument to the 
king on the spot where he had suffered. This plan failed, 
because of the Eevolution of 1830. The old name. Place 
de la Concorde, was restored ; and later, the ceremonies 
by which the Eepublic of 1848 was proclaimed, were held 
here. 

The Place de la Bastille, is the name given to the wide 
open space at the intersection of the Eue St. Antoine and 
the Boulevards Beaumarchais and Richard Lenoir. It occu- 
pies the site of the old Castle built by Charles Y. for the 



122 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



defence of the Gate of St. Antoine, whicli afterwards became 
famous as a State Prison, especially during the reigns of 
Louis XIV. and Louis XY., and which was taken and de- 
stroyed by the people in 1789 The materials of which it 
was constructed were afterwards employed in building the 
Pont de la Concorde. The site was at once levelled, and tlie 




Place de la Bastille. 



model of a huge elephant, in plaster, which it was designed 
ultimately to cast in bronze, was put here and covered with 
a shed. In 1831, Louis Philippe laid the foundation of the 
present column, which is dedicated to the memory of the 
French citizens who made the revolution which placed him 
on the throne. The remains of six hundred and fifteen 
citizens killed in this struggle were buried in the vaults be- 



. PARIS Br SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 123 

low the column in 1840, and their names inscribed upon the 
pedestal. In 1848, the mob brought the throne of the 
" Citizen King ".from the Tuileries to this place and burned 
it. In the battles of June, 1848, the insurgents had their 
principal barricade just opposite the column, at the head of 
the Bue du Faubourg St. Anioine, and it was from this work 
that the cowardly shot was fired which killed the good 
Archbishop of Paris while engaged in his work of love and 
mercy. 

The " Column of July," which occupies the centre of the 
open space, is one hundred and fifty-two feet high, and is 
surmounted by a winged figure of Victory, in bronze gilt. 
The column itself is entirely of bronze. A winding stairway 
leads to the summit, from which one of the best views of 
Paris may be obtained. The payment of a small fee is 
necessary to gain admission. 

The Place Vendume was laid out in 1699, on the site of the 
house and gardens of the Due de Yendome, a natural son of 
Louis XIY. It was at first called the Place des Conquetes, and 
a statue of Louis XIV. was set up in the centre. The statue 
was destroyed during the Eevolution. In 1806, Napoleon I, 
began the column which stands in the square to-day, and 
completed it in 1810. It is designed in imitation of the col- 
umns of Tragan and Marcus Aurelius, at Eome, and is in- 
tended to commemorate the successful campaign against the 
Austrians in 1805. It is of bronze, made of the cannon cap- 
tured during the wars of Napoleon, and is ornamented with 
a series of bass-relief's, representing the battles and victories of 
the French during the campaign it commemorates. At the 
summit of the column is a statue of Napoleon I. in the cos- 
tume of a Eoman Emperor. This is the third which has been 
placed there. The first was taken down and melted after the 
Restoration to form a part of the equestrian statue of Henry 



124 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



lY., whicli stands on the Pont Neuf. In 1831, a second one 
was placed on the column, but was taken down in 1862, and 
now stands at the extremity of the Avenue c?' Neuilly^ on the 
spot where the Emperor's ashes first rested upon French soil 
after their return from St. Helena. The present statue is an 
exact copy of the original. The column is one hundred and 
forty-three feet high to the base of the statue, which is twelve 
feet in height. Narrow winding stairs lead to the top, from 




Place YendSme and Napoleon Column. 

which a good view of the city may be obtained. The old 
sergeant in charge of the column served under the great Em- 
peror, and is an object of almost as much interest as the column 
itself. The railings which enclose the base, are usually hung 
with wreaths of flowers, tributes to the memory of the Little 
Corporal, from his old veterans. 

The houses enclosing the square are the work of Mansard, 
and are handsome specimens of his style Several of them 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



120 



are used as private residences. The headquarters of the Gen- 
eral Commanding the Army of Paris, the Ministry of Justice, 
the offices of the Credit Mobilier, and the Hotel Bristol com- 
prise the other buildings. 




The Arch of Triumpli. 

The Place de V Arc de VEtoile, occupies the high ground at 
the western extremity of the Champs- Ely sees. It is circular 
in shape, and is formed by the intersection of twelve fine 
avenues. It is bordered with magnificent mansions, uniform 
ill style, and constitutes one of the handsomest sections of 



126 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Paris. In the centre stands the magnificent Arc de Triomphe, 
the largest triumphal arch in the world. It is one hundred 
and sixty-one feet high, one hundred and forty-five feet wide, 
and one hundred and ten feet deep. In the centre is an im- 
mense arch, ninety-seven feet high, and forty-five feet wide, 
surmounted by a massy entablature, and pierced by two 
smaller side arches. Each face is ornamented by two reliefs 
On the side facing the Tuileries, the relief to the left of the 
visitor who faces the arch, represents the departure of the 
French army of 1792, while that on the other hand, repre- 
sents the triumph of 1810. On the other face are reliefs rep- 
resenting Kesistance and Peace. The other sculptures rep- 
resent various victories of the French army, and the walls are 
inscribed with a long list of French triumphs, and with the 
names of several hundred of the most distinguished generals 
of France. Near the top of the edifice is a row of shields 
inscribed with the names of the principal victories of Napo- 
leon I. It is one of the handsomest public works in the city, 
and forms a conspicuous object in any view of Paris. It was 
begun by ISTapoleon I. in 1806, and completed by Louis 
Philippe. It cost upwards of 10,000,000 francs. A stairway 
leads to the top from which a magnificent view of the city 
and surrounding country is obtained. 

Place du Carrousel is the name given to the open space be- 
tween the palaces of the Tuileries and the Louvre, now en- 
closed on all sides by those two palaces and the buildings 
uniting them. Until the commencement of the present cen- 
tury, this square was covered with a dense mass of houses, 
several churches, a theatre, etc. The site of the arch was 
occupied by a small square, called Place du Carrousel, from a 
tournament held there in 1662, during the reign of Louis 
XIV. The area between the square and the Tuileries was oc- 
cupied principally by the offices and outbuildings of the 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 127 

palace. On the 10th of August, 1792, the populace stormed 
the Tuileries, and set lire to these outbuildings, which were 
nearly all consumed. In 1804, an infernal machine was ex- 
ploded in the Rue Sainte ISTicaise, one of the old streets of this 
place, for the purpose of killing the great Napoleon, who 
soon after palled down the houses standing between the palace 
and the present iron railing, and cleared and enclosed this part 
of the square. Healso built the gallery designed to connect 
the Tuileries with the Louvre, on the side of the Rue de 
Rivoli, and completed it as far as the archway facing the Rue 
de Richelieu. Louis Philippe continued this work. He pur- 
chased and tore down about two-thirds of the remaining 
houses, but allowed the northern gallery to stand as Napo- 
leon I. had left it. Napoleon III. swept away the last of the 
houses which covered that part of the square known as the 
Place Napoleon III.^ and completed the galleries connecting 
the two palaces. 

The view from any part of this enclosure, presents one of 
the grandest architectural displays of which the world can 
boast. On the north and south are the magnificent buildings 
forming the connection between the two palaces. On the 
west is the palace of the Tuileries, and on the east is the 
restored fa9ade of the Louvre. This portion of the Louvre is 
flanked by two ranges of elegant buildings, running almost 
parallel with the great galleries, and designed to conceal the 
want of parallelism between the Tuileries and the Louvre. 
The space enclosed between the fagade of the Louvre and 
these new buildings, is called the Place Napoleon III.^ and its 
centre is ornamented with a handsome little garden. The 
new buildings are the work of the present Emperor, and con- 
stitute one of the finest portions of the whole pile. Every 
ornament art could devise has been lavished upon them, and 
the fronts are lined with rows of statues of the great men of 



128 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

France. The buildings on the north side (next to the Ene do 
Rivoli) contain the offices of the Minister of State and of the 
Imperial Household, the Library of the Louvre, the Central 
Telegraph of&ce, and the Barracks of the Imperial Guard. 
On the side next the Seine, are the private stables of the 
Emperor, containing the carriages and horses in immediate 
use by the Imperial family. The buildings on all sides 
of this immense square are interrupted by projecting and 
elevated masses, called pavilions. They are magnificent as 




■ Place du Carrousel. 

works of art, and are pierced with archways, which afford the 
means of communication between the square and the adjacent 
streets. The pavilion at the eastern etid of the Place Napo- 
leon III.^ is the Pavilion Sully, formerly the Pavilion de 
V Horloge (Clock Tower), and leads ;nto the great court of 
the Louvre. The Pavilion de Richelieu, on the north side of 
the square, leads out to the Rue de Rivoli and the Place du 
Palais Royal, and is the finest tower in the whole pile. 

Near the western end of this great square, and just in front 
of the railing erected before the palace of the Tuileries, is the 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 129 

splendid Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel. It was begun by 
jSTapoleon I. in 1806, and is forty-eight feet high, and sixty- 
five feet wide. The four faces are ornamented with marble 
bass-reliefs, representing the principal battles of the first Em- 
pire; and each front has' a row of four marble columns 
reaching from the ground to the top of the arch, each column 
being surmounted with a statue of a soldier of the Empire in 
the uniform of his corps. On the top of the whole structure, 
Napoleon placed the four bronze horses he had carried away 
from the Basilica of St. Mark, at Venice. These were re- 
stored to the Yenitians in 1814, and their place is now sup- 
plied by a female figure, designed to represent the Eestoration, 
standing in a chariot drawn by four horses. 

The Place du Ghdteau<VEau is formed by the intersection 
of the Boulevards of the Temple, Saint Martin, Prince Engine, 
Amandiers, and Magenta. It is handsomely ornamented with 
shade-trees, and takes its name from the fine fountain, which 
stands in the centre, which was placed here in 1812. The 
open space is usually occupied with the principal flower- 
market of Paris, which adds much to the beauty of the scene. 
At the northeastern end of the square, stands a magnificent 
building, called the Barrack of Prince Eugene, occupied by 
three thousand soldiers. This square is famous as the scene 
of some hard fighting during the Eevolution of 1818. 

The Place du Chdtelet^ at the northern end of the Pont au 
Change^ occupies, in part, the site of the old feudal fortress 
of the Grand Chatelet, built at first for the defence of the 
city, and afterwards famous as the prison of the burghers of 
Paris, the residence of the Provost of the city, and the seat of 
the Courts of Justice. It was pulled down in 1803, and the 
present square, which has since been enlarged, was begun. 
The Boulevard Sebastopol and the Avenue Victoria cut 
this square, and rows of magnificent buildings enclose it 



130 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



Two theatres, the Theatre Lyrique, and the Theatre du Ch^- 
telet face each other on the side next the river. In the cen- 
tre stands a handsome fountain, built by Napoleon I. It is 
ornamented with a column in the form of the trunk of a palm- 
trse, rising from the centre, and surmounted with a gilt figure 
of Victory. The shaft is inscribed with the names of N"apo- 




'I'he Chatelet Fountain. 

I eon's battles, and the base is ornamented with statues of 
Prudence, Vigilance, Justice, and Force. The whole is placed 
on a pedestal of stone, surrounded with sphinxes. Streams 
of water flow from the sides of the pedestal, and the mouths 
of the sphinxes. The fountain is surrounded by shade-trees, 
and the spot forms one of the pleasantest resting places in 
Paris. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 131 

The Place Royal in the Rue des Vosges^ a little to the 
west of the Boulevard Beaumarchais, is one of the most 
interesting parts of Paris. It occupies the site of the ancient 
Palais des Tournelles. Henry II., having been accidentally 
killed there, in a tournament, by Montgomery, in 1559, his 
widow caused the palace to be pulled down, and Henry IV. 
built the present square on its site. It is an immense quad- 
rangle of red-brick arcaded houses, with high pitched roofs, 
enclosing a pleasant garden ornamented with a statue of 
Louis XIII., and with four fountains. At present it is -the 
resort of old persons and children with their nurses. 

Everything is hushed and quiet here, and as you enter the 
place fresh from the bustle and noise of the Boulevards it 
seems that you have stepped into another world. The queer 
old houses carry you back fully two centuries, and have such 
a gloomy, sombre air, that you can hardly realize that this 
was the chosen resort of fashion in the brilliant age of 
Louis XIII. Yet such it was. That singular old house, now 
number 21, was the town residence of the great Cardinal 
Eichelieu, and No. 9, was the home of his mistress, Marion 
Delorme. Only a short while back Victor Hugo lived in 
the latter building. 

The " Eepublic of '89," called the place, the Place des Vosges^ 
in honor of that Department which was the first to contribute 
to the necessities of the State, but in 1814 the old name was 
restored. In 1848, it was again called the Place des Vosges, 
but in 1853, was given back its present title. 

The other prominent places of the city are the Place de la 
Bourse^ to be described in connection with the Bourse^ 
the Place de VEur.ope^ Place Franc^ois L, Place de Or^ve, 
Places Louvois, du Louvre^ Notre-Dame^ du Palais-Bourbon, 
du Palais Royal, du Pantheon, du Roi- de-Rome, du Pont, 
Saint Michel, St. G'-ory", Saint Sulpice, an I des Victoires. 



132 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Thej are all more or less handsome, and are ornamented in 
many instances with statues or fountains. 

The streets and squares of the city are paved with asphaltum, 
or are simply macadamized roads. They are swept clean and 
almost entirely free from dust at night, and are in marked 
contrast with our own thoroughfares in this respect. At 
sunrise a stream of fresh water is made to flow through each 
gutter, and is continued for several hours. In this manner 
all filth is carried away, and washed into the sewers. 



II. 

FOUNTAINS, MONUMENTS AND STATUES. 

Paeis has several means of obtaining pure water for the 
consumption of its people. I. The water of the little river 
Ourcq is carried to the city by means of the Canal de I'Ourcq. 
This Canal is twenty-five miles in length, and was begun by 
Napoleon when first Consul, and finished in 1827. It com- 
mences at Mareuil (Oise) and terminates in the basin of La 
Villette, in the N. E. part of the city. The St. Denis and 
St. Martin Canals join it to the Seine on the north and south. 
The principal reservoir of the Ourcq is situated above the 
La Villette basin, at the point of junction with the St, Denis 
Canal, and can furnish in twenty-four hours about 1,200,000 
cubic yards of water. An acqueduct extends from this basin 
along the hills surrounding Paris, and supplies a basin near 
Monceaux. 

II. The water of the Seine is forced by the powerful 
Chaillot pumps, worked by steam-power on the Quai de Billy, 
near the Bridge of the Alma, to the reservoirs on the heights 
beyond, from which it is supplied to the riglit bank of the 
river. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



133 



III. The Grros Caillou pumps on the opposite side, force 
up the supply of Seine water for the south bank, to the 
reservoirs bejond. 

IV. The Arcueil Canal, begun in 1620, consisting in part 
of a line acqueduct, receives its supply at a distance of ten 





The Artesian Well at Grenelle. 



miles from Paris, and discharges it into the reservoir in the 
vicinity of the Observatory, from which it is distributed over 
the southern part of the city. 

V. The Artesian wells at Grenelle and Passy. The water 



134 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

of the latter well is now allowed to flow into the lakes of the 
Bois de Boulogne. 

YI. The reservoirs of Belleville and Menilmontant receive 
the waters of the Marne and the Dhuis, and convey to the 
city supply of about 85,000 cubic yards of water every 
twenty -four hours. 

Other projects are on foot to increase the supply, and will 
doubtless be carried out in a few years. 

Water pipes are laid throughout the entire city, and 
hydrants are located at convenient distances in every street, 
but not more than one-fifth of the houses have water laid on. 
The conveniences which in this country are deemed in- 
dispensable to the poorest establishment, are almost unknown 
in Paris. The houses which have not the water laid on are 
supplied with it at the door from carts and buckets. The 
men who furnish this supply are chiefly natives of Auvergne, 
and are said to number several thousand. 

The water is pleasanter than that of London, but is not so 
good as the Oroton. In the summer it is particularly un- 
palatable without ice, which is scarce. 

The Artesian Wells at Passy and Grenelle are richly worth 
visiting. The latter is but a short distance from the dome 
of the Invalides, being almost at the foot of the Avenue de 
Breteuil. 

The streets are supplied with a number of ornamental 
fountains, from which any one may obtain water. They are 
in some cases very beautiful as works of art, and always 
form one of the pleasantest and most attractive features of 
the neighborhood. The principal of these are the Fon- 
taine de VArbre Sec^ at the intersection of the Bues de VArhre 
Sec and Saint JSonore ; the Fontaine Cuvier, at the corner of the 
Mues Guvier and Saint Victor ; the Fontaine Oaillon^ in the 
Carrefour Gaillon ; the Fontaine des Innocents, near the Salles 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



185 



Centrales ; the Fontaine MolQre^ at the corner of the Rue de 
Richelieu and Rue de Fontaine Mblih-e, and opposite the place 
where the great poet died ; and the Fontaine Saint Michel, in 
the Place Saint Michel. 




HarOl' 



Fontaine Saint Michel. 



Statues and Arches are numerous. In addition to those- 
already mentioned are the following : 

The Statue of Henry IV., on the Pont Neuf, is the work of 
Lemot, and stands on the square mole of the bridge. It is 
of bronze, and is made of the statues of Napoleon I., from; 
the Vendome Column and th§ Column of Boulogne-sur-Mer 
and the statue of Desaix from the Place des Yictoires, which 



lo6 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

were taken clown by order of Louis XYIII. and melted into 
this one, which replaces the original statue of Henry IV. 
inelted in 1792 to make cannon. The pedestal is of marble, 
and is ornamented with bronze bass-reliefs, representing 
Henry IV, entering Paris in triumph, and Henry IV. send- 
ing provisions over the walls to the besieged citizens. 

The Statue of Marshal Neij stands in the Carrefour of the 
Observatory, and was erected in 1853. It was designed by 
Eude, and cast in bronze by Eck and Durand. It is a fine 
work, and marks the spot where the Marshal was shot, in 1815. 
Charged with the duty of marching against Napoleon, after 
the return of the Emperor from Elba, Ney could not resist 
the sight of his old chieftain, and went over to him with his 
whole force. For this act, so pardonable in him, the Bour- 
bons, incapable of forgiveness, had him shot here on the 7th 
of December, 1815. Justice has been done to his memory 
at last, and the spot where he fell is now marked by this fine 
statue, the pedestal of which is inscribed wit^Ji the names of 
his " hundred battles." 

The Porte Saint Denis stands on the Boulevard of the 
same name, and marks the site of the old St, Denis gate in 
the wall of Philip Augustus, The present structure is 
seventy-six feet high, and the principal arch is twenty-six 
feet wide and forty-five feet high. It was erected as a 
triumphal arch in 1672, by Louis XIV,, for the purpose of 
commemorating his victories. The sculptures represent the 
triumphs of Louis h Orand, and that above the arcli is his 
passage of the Ehine. In 1830, the arch was occupied by 
the insurgents, who fortified themselves on the top of it, and 
held it against every effort of the troops to dislodge them. 
It was in the immediate vicinity of this arch that the Revo- 
lution of 1848 began 

The Porte Saint Martin stands in the Boulevard St. Martin, 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



137 



just below the arch mentioned above. It is also a triumphal 
arch, designed to commemorate the victories of Louis XIY., 
but is vastly inferior in size and beauty to its neighbor. It 
was built in 1675, and is fifty-seven feet wide, and fifty-seven 
feet high. It is ornamented with a series of indifferent 




Porte St, Denis. 



sculptures, one of which represents le grand monarque, as 
Hercules, in a full-bottomed wig. Like its neighbor, it was 
occupied by the insurgents in 1830, but was not held so suc- 
cessfully. In 1848 it was the centre of much of the heaviest 
fiofhtins. 



VII. 
ALONG THE SEINE. 

The Seine enters Paris at the extreme southeastern limit 
of the municipal line, at the point where it is crossed by 
the Pont Napoleon III.^ and flows through the city in a gen- 
erally northwesterly direction as far as the Place cle la Con- 
corde. Here it makes a slight turn, and flows almost due 
west to the Bridge of the Alma, after which its course is 
southwest to the new bridge below the Bridge of Grenelle, 
at the end of the corporate limits — a total distance of about 
six English miles. 

For almost the entire distance the banks of the river are 
walled up with stone masonry, and are lined with quays, 
which are bordered with shade-trees, and form a delightful 
promenade. The stream is crossed by twenty-seven bridges, 
some of stone, some of wire, and others of iron. 

Just within the fortifications the Poiit Napoleon III. spans 
the river. It is a handsome structure of stone, four hundred 
and thirty-two feet long, with six fine arches, thirty-eight 
yards wide, and, being double, allows the passage of pedes- 
trians and vehicles as well as the railway trains. A short 
distance below is the Pont de Bercy, one hundred and forty- 
eight feet long, and with five elliptic arches. It is a hand- 
some structure recently built in place of the old suspension 
bridge of that name. 

The quays on the right bank of the river are the scene of 
a lively traffic, as the whole quarter, which was formerly 
138 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 139 

the faubourg of Bercy, is but little more than a vast depot of 
wines, brandies, vinegars, and olive oil, which are imported 
bj the river and by the railways leading from the south of 
France to Paris. The wine cellars of Bercy are a curiosity, 
and will richly repay a visit. They are about twelve hun- 
dred in number, of various sizes, and are rented by the 
wholesale wine merchants of Paris. On the opposite side of 
the river is the Quai de la Gare^ the great receiving point 
for all the wood that is brought to Paris. It is bordered 
on one side by immense wood-yards, and on the other by 
manufactories. 

The Pont d''Austerlitz is the next bridge below. It is 
splendidly constructed of stone, is three hundred and ninety 
feet long, eighteen feet wide, and has five stone arches. It is 
inscribed with the names of the principal ofl&cers killed at 
Austerlitz. It was finished in 1807, and rebuilt in 1854-55. 

It is at this point that the river enters old Paris, the beau- 
tiful city of monuments and historic memories. On our 
right is the Place Mazas, back of which looms up the gloomy 
prison of the same name. Just below, the Canal St. Martin 
flows into the stream, and beyond it rises the beautiful 
Column of the Bastille. On the right bank of the canal is 
the old Arsenal, and just across the river is the front of the 
Jardin des Plantes, below which, and adjoining it, is the 
Salle aux Yins^ the great bonded warehouse for liquors of 
all kinds. The river now separates into two arms, and 
encircles the lie Saint Louis^ after which it gathers the old 
lie de la Cite in a larger embrace. 

Let us pause on the little suspension bridge called the 
Pont de Constantme, which unites the quay in front of the 
Halle aux Vins with the lie Saint Louis, and gaze down the 
left or southern channel of the river. The stone bridge just 
below is the Pont de Tournelle. It was built in 1656, and 



140 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

took its name from a tower which stood near the gate of 
Saint Bernard — the first gate on the south side in the old 
wall of Philip Augustus. Just beyond is the new iron Pont 
de Saint Louis, connecting the lie St Louis with the Lie de la 
Cite. 

The uppermost bridge between the south bank and the 
old Cite, is the Pont de VArcheveche. It is a small structure, 
and is so called because it connects the site of the Arch- 
bishop's old palace with the south bank. Below it is the 
Pont Double, built in 1835, and so called because a small 
coin called a double was paid here as toll. It unites the 
Parvis Notre Dame with the south bank. The bridge with 
a single arch, just below, is the Petit Pont, and was given 
this name to distinguish it from the Pont au Change, which 
was formerly called the Grand Pont. It was defended by 
the Little Ohatelet, now torn down. The building just 
above it in the old Cite is the Hdtel Dieu. The Pont Saint 
Michel is just below, uniting the island with the Place Saint 
Michel. It was rebuilt in 1857, and is a handsome structure 
of stone. The lowest of all is the Pont Neuf, which crosses 
the western end of the island, and of which more anon. 
Between the two bridges is the gloomy old Palais de Justice 
and the Prefecture of Police, on the island, with the Quai 
ties Orfevres, once famous for its watches and jewelry. Below, 
and just opposite, on the south side is the Quai des Grands 
Augustins, with its book-stores and stalls. 

Eetracing our steps to the upper end of the Lie St. Louis, 
we pass from the Pont de Constantine to the Pont de VEstacade, 
which joins the island to the old Lie Louviers, now a part of 
the main land. The bridge just below it is the Pont Marie, 
dating from 1629, and called after its builder. It was once 
covered with houses, but they have all been removed. It 
is now the oldest and least altered bridge of the city. It is 



^ 



o 



en? 



c-t- 

o 

-t 

<n- 
P* 

CQ 




141 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 143 

built of stone. The next below is the Pont Louis Philippe^ 
a handsome stone structure, built in 1863, in place of an 
old suspension bridge which occupied the site prior to that 
date. 

We have now passed the Ik St. Louis, and find ourselves 
opposite the old Cite. Notre Dame rises boldly in view on 
our left, and -on the right bank is the fine H6tel de Ville, in 
fi'ont of which, is the old Place de Greve, now the Place de 
rUdtel de Ville. The iron bridge between this square and 
the island, is the Pont d'Arcole. It was built as a suspension 
bridge, for foot-passengers, in 1828, and replaced in 1855 by 
the present iron arch. On the island is the immense Hdtel 
Dieu, and a new building in course of erection. The next 
bridge is the Pont Notre Dame, by which the Eue St. Martin 
crosses to the island and becomes the Rue de la Cite. It was 
one of the old bridges, and was originally covered with 
houses. The present stracture dates from 1856. On the 
island, below the bridge, are the flower- market and the Trib-, 
unal of Commerce, while on the right bank, the old tower of 
Saint Jacques de Boiccherie rises some distance back from the 
river. The bridge in front of us now, with the gloomy 
Palais de Justice at its southern end, and the theatres and the 
Place du Ohdtelei at the northern end, is the Pont au Change, 
or Money Changers' Bridge, so called from the fact that the 
gold-smiths and money-changers were required, by a decree of 
Louis YII., to establish themselves here. Since the days of 
Julian the Apostate, this has always been the site of a bridge. 
It was originally a wooden structure, and was often burned or 
destroyed, until 1647, when a stone bridge was built. It was 
lined with houses, like old London Bridge, until 1788, when 
they were removed. The present splendid structure was 
built in 1859. Until the middle of the seventeenth century, 
this bridge was the most fashionable lounging place in Paris. 



144 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Ou our riglit, as we pass down the stream, are the Theatre du 
Ghdtelet and the Quai de la Megisserie, and on the left the 
clock tower of the Palace of Justice, which gives the name to 
the Quai de VHorloge. Those sharp-pointed towers mark the 
grim prison of the Conciergene, where Marie Antoinette re- 
mained so long a captive. The bridge below is the famous 
Pont Neuf. To tell the history of this bridge is to tell the 
history of Paris, and so we pass it by to refer to it in another 
place. 

Across the narrow point of the island we can see the SUel 
des Monaies (the Mint), and just below it the Palais de Vln- 
stitut, the two occupying the site of the famous old Tour (or 
SOtel) de Nesle^ which Victor Hugo has made so terribly 
familiar to the readers of modern fiction. 

On the right bank is the Place du Louvre, at the end of 
which rises the Gothic belfry of Saint -(jrer main I'Auxerrois, 
from which was given the signal that began the terrible 
, deeds of St. Bartholomew's Eve ; and facing this square is the 
colonnade of 'the Louvre. From this point the Louvre, the 
gallery of Henry IV., the new gallery of Napoleon III., and 
the Tuileries, occupy the right bank to the Pont Royal. 

Opposite the centre of the Louvre, the beautiful Pont des 
Arts crosses the stream. It was built in 1801-1803, and is 
constructed of iron. Just below it, on the south bank, is the 
Ecole des Beaux-Arts (School of Pine Arts), below which are 
the Quais Malaquais and Voltaire, abounding in book-shops 
and stalls. 

The next bridge below is the Pont du Carrousel, completed in 
1834. It is of iron, and is much lighter than the Pont Royal, 
which crosses the river just below it. This last bridge is 
constructed of stone, and was built in 1665. On one of the 
piers is a scale for measuring the rise and fall of the water. 
One of the best views of the river is obtained from this 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 145 

bridge. On the north side are gardens of the Tuileries, and 
on the south a large barrack and the Court of Accounts {Cowt 
ties Comptes). A small frigate, now used as an establishment 
for sea-baths, lies moored to the south bank just below. 

At tlie centre of the river wall of the Tuileries gardens, the 
elegant Pont de Solferino crosses the river, uniting the gar- 
dens with the palace of the Legion of Honor, which stands 
immediately in front of the bridge. At the end of the gar 
dens, on the right bank, is the Place de la Concorde^ from the 
centre of which the Pont de la Concorde^ finished in 1790, and 
built of the stones which composed the Bastille, is thrown over 
the Seine. At the south end of this bridge is the magnificent 
front of the Palace of Legislative Corps, to the left of which 
are the ffdteldu President and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. 
The esplanade of the Invalides is still lower down, with the 
gilt dome of the great Emperor's tomb gittering beyond it, 
and on the right bank you may see the beautiful Champs 
Elysees. 

Following the course of the river, to the left, we are now 
at the Pont des Invalides, which affords communication between 
the Quai de la Conference, and the Quai c?' Orsay. It was 
finished in 1829, and faces the lower part of the esplanade of 
the: H6tel des Invalides. The centre pier is ornamented with 
two fine groups in stone, representing a victory on land and 
a victory at sea. Below the bridge, on the south bank, is 
the Imperial Tobacco Manufactory. The next bridge is the 
Poyit de V Alma, to my mind, the handsomest of all the 
bridges. It is built of granite, and was finished in 1855 
The piers are ornamented with soldiers in the uniforms of' 
the various corps of the French army, which took part in the^ 
battle of the Alma; a grenadier, a zouave, a chasseur a pied,, 
and a foot artilleryman. 

At the Bridge of the Alma, the river turns to the south 
10 



146 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGUT. 

west, and continues in this direction until it passes beyond 
tlie city. On the right bank, immediately below the bridge, 
are the steam pumps of Ohaillot, and on the opposite side the 
Emperor's stables, and the great storehouse for the furniture 
belonging to the Imperial palaces not in use, called the Garde 
Meuble di'. la Oouronne. The large open field on the south 
bank, is the Champs de Mars, the great parade ground of the 
city, and the site of the famous Exhibition of 1867. The 
building back of it is the old Military School, now used as a 
barrack for troops. On the opposite side of the river is a 
hill which has been cut into a series of terraces and hand- 
somely ornamented. It is the old Place Trocadero, now called 
the Place du Roi de Rome. The bridge uniting it with the 
Champs de Mars is the famous Pont d' Una, built by the 
great Napoleon (1806-1813), in commemoration of the vic- 
tory by which he crushed the power of the Prussian mon- 
archy. It is built of stone, is ornamented with statuary at each 
end, and is a very handsome structure. When the Allied 
armies occupied Paris in 1815, Blucher, wishing to efface the 
memory of Jena, made preparations to blow up this bridge, 
and was only deterred from his barbarous purpose by Wel- 
lington's threat to stop him by force. 

The old suburb of Grenelle, which now forms the Fifteenth 
Arrondissement, lies on the south bank, and Passy occupies 
the north side. A little less than a mile below the Bridge of 
Jena, is the Pont de Grenelle, connecting Grenelle with 
Auteuil. It is constructed of wood, and was built in 1828. 

Just inside of the fortifications stands the last of the city 
bridges, the magnificent Pont du Point-du-Jour, sometimes 
called the Pont d' Auteuil. It was finished in 1866, and is a 
magnificent work of art. It is intended for foot-passengers 
and vehicles, for each of which a separate way is provided on 
the riuht and left. In the centre of the bridge rises a row of 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 147 

splendid arcades supporting a magnificent railway viaduct 
It presents an imposing appearance, and is one of the noblest 
works of its kind in the world. 

Since the construction of the new sewers, a great and bene- 
ficial change has been wrought in the river and its appear- 
ance. The filth of the city is no longer cast into it, as before, 
but is carried by the grand sewer miles away, and emptied 
into the stream far from Paris. The city is not disfigured by 
dirty wharves and rows of filthy vessels, but fine granite 
quays bordered by handsome shade-trees take the place of 
the usual accompaniments of a navigable river, and behind 
them are the long rows of palaces and other buildings. From 
almost any of the bridges the eye can range over the greater 
part of the river, and the view presented is unequalled in any 
other city in the world. 

All is bustle and activity along the river. Crowds are 
hurrying to and fro over the bridges, the quays are lined with 
patient fishermen during the milder months, scores are enter- 
ing and leaving the numerous bathing establishments which 
line the shores, and the washerwomen are making the best 
use of their tongues as well as of their hands in the queer 
floating houses in which they ply their trade. At rare inter- 
vals a heavily laden barge passes by, towed by a pufl&ng 
steamer, and every few moments a fussy little passenger boat 
will dart under the bridges, or pause at the landing stages to 
discharge its human freight. 

They are queer little things, these passenger boats, or 
bateaux a vapew\ as the French call them. These particular 
vessels are termed " Steamboat omnibuses/' and ply between 
Bercy and Auteuil, some of them going as far as Saint Cloud, 
in the season of navigation. They are propellers, and re- 
semble our canal boats for passengers. The deck in the 
middle of the boat is railed in, and provided with rows of 



148 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

seats, but there is an enclosed cabin at eacb end, in wliicb 
one can take refuge from tlie weather. The boats are long 
and narrow, and their engines, which are placed amidships, 
take up but little room. Each boat is in charge of a con- 
ductor, who is also captain and clerk. It is steered by 
means of a tiller astern. The boats are not so fast or so 
strong as the penny steamers on the Thames, but they are 
much cleaner and much prettier. Landing stages are es-. 
tablished at certain points along the river, and separate 
stages are provided for boats ascending and descending the 
stream. The fare from one end of the city to the other is 
five sous, which is cheap enough for a distance of six miles. 
There is no pleasanter method of travelling than these little 
steamers afibrd. They enable you to become thoroughly 
acquainted with the stream, to see the city from the water, 
and learn the river front better than you could from the 
bridges. Those who have not tried it, can hardly imagine 
what Paris looks like from the water. From the deck of 
one of these little boats the city is seen to its best advantage. 
Palaces, bridges, towers, prisons, churches, and columns, rise 
before you in one grand panorama, grander and more beau- 
tiful than I can paint it here. He has not seen Paris, who 
has not viewed it from the deck of a " steamboat omnibus." 

And at night, what a wonderful river. is this! How dark 
and swift it flows under the gloomy arches of the bridges. 
It makes you shudder as you look at it. How the lights 
twinkle upon the bridges and along the quays, and reflect 
and multiply themselves in the sullen waters below ! The 
heavy outline of the Louvre rises grandly from the right 
shore, and the dark towers of the Conciergerie loom up 
sombrely in the distance, on the south, while Notre Dame, 
faintly seen in the far back ground, soars majestically to- 
wards heaven. See that little moving object with its red and 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



149 



green eyes, darting towards us, puffing and panting like some 
fabled monster of the deep. It is a steamboat omnibus, and 
as we gaze at it, it is gone. The bridges are crowded, as in 
the day, with laughing, careless passers by. Ha! you heard 
a sigh from that poor woman who staggered past you, but it 
is lost in the laughter of a young girl who speeds by on the 
arm of her lover. A white form gleams for a moment on 
the parapet you are leaning against, and before you can cry 
out there is a solash in the water below, a hoarse, gurgling 




Deligny's Swimming School. 

sound as the waves close over their victim, and the Seine 
flows on as dark and as swift as it has flowed during all its 
nineteen hundred years. It is the old story, repeated year 
after year. The city has changed, but the dark waters still 
remain the last refuge of the despairing. 

Amongst the most interesting features of the Seine are the 
numerous bathing establishments which line its shores. 
These are immense houses built out in the water, and com- 
municating with the shore by means of little foot-bridges. 



150 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

They are neatly ornamented with trees and shrubbery, and 
really add much to the river scenery. The interior consists 
of an immense tank, bordered on all sides by a platform 
ornamented with a pretty colonnade, and lined with long 
rows of doors opening upon a number of dressing-rooms. 
At one end is the office of the establishment, and a counter 
for refreshments. The valuables of visitors may be deposited 
at the ofl&ce, and a cheque or ticket received for them. Hair 
dressing-rooms are provided in some of the establishments, 
and in all but the poorest, there is an apartment in which 
everything is kept in readiness to restore life to bathers who 
may be rescued from drowning. 

The interior of a swimming bath presents a curious sight. 
You see all sorts and manners of men and boys, entirely 
naked except as to a pair of short breeches reaching from the 
waist to a little above the knees. One man startles jou. by 
his extreme leanness, another is so bony as to resemble a 
skeleton more than a living creature, another still is so fat 
that he floats on the water like a cork. This man is tall, and 
that one is short. This one is so corpulent that he hasn't 
seen his feet for years, that one is humpbacked, another is 
bow-legged, another knock-kneed. In short every possible 
anatomical development may be found here, among the men, 
and I have been told that the same variety may be seen in 
the baths devoted exclusively to women. 

The scene varies at different hours. Early in the morning 
come the most favored visitors — the regular bathers — to 
enjoy the first freshness of the water ; and queer ol(?^ fossils 
many of them are. After breakfast, the gaonins, or boys, 
come trooping in for their sport, and a little later they are 
joined by a class of older visitors who wish to take their 
ease in bathing. Others come to enjoy what seems to me the 
very questionable pleasure of breakfasting naked. Few of 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



151 



these venture into the water. They take their (7q/e, then a 
hearty repast, afterwards a little glass of Cognac^ then a cigar, 
and finally lie down for a siesta, in every conceivable atti- 
tude — and all as naked as when they came into the world, 
except the short breeches ! 

Separate establishments are provided for men and foi 
women, and during the summer months are visited bv 
crowds. Deligny's swimming-school, on the Qua/' d'Orsay, 
is perhaps the best and finest in Paris. 




The Baths of the Samaritaine. 



Besides these swimming-schools, are a series of establish- 
ments, situated along the river, in which one can enjoy a 
warm or cold bath in a tub,i.in a private apartment. Of 
these, the Baths of the Samaritaine, just below the Pont 
Neuf, are the best. The prices vary from eight sous to one 
franc, which does not include either towels or soap. 



VIII. 
THE MORGUE. 

At the extreme upper end of the lie de la Oite^ jnst back 
of and facing the gray old Church of Notre Dame, is a low 
square building of stone, enclosed at the back by a blind 
wall of the same material, which descends abruptly from the 
street to the water's edge. It is a curious, unattractive place 
in itself, and a stranger is at first at a loss to understand the 
fascination it seems to exercise over the Parisians, for few 
pass its doors without pausing to look in. Ask the name of 
the place, and the answer will solve the mystery. It is the 
Morgue. 

When the fortress of the Grand Chatelet frowned on the 
pretty little square just in sight on the opposite bank of the 
river, there was attached to it a certain inner gateway, at 
which all newly-arrived prisoners were detained for awhile 
in order that the keepers might have a good view of them 
{les morguer a leur aise), in order to be able to identify them 
thereafter. The gateway was called La Morgue, and it subse- 
quently became the place where all dead bodies, unknown or 
unclaimed, were exposed for identification. This custom was 
continued until 1804, when a special dead-house was erected, 
and called La Morgue. The present edifice is built in place 
of the original Morgue, which stood near the Hotel Dieu, 
and which was found to bo too small for the necessities of 
the city. 

The establishment is in charge of a superintendent, a clerk, 
l.')2 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 153 

and three assistants. The former receives a salary of 2,100 
francs, and the rest 1,200 francs each, per annum. Bodies 
are brought here from all parts of Paris, if the facts concern- 
ing their decease and identity are not known, and are kept 
three days for identification. If not claimed by their friends 
during that time, they are buried at the expense of the city. 
Every care is taken to identify them. As soon as a corpse 
is brought in it is stripped, and searched carefully for marks^ 
by the superintendent. The clothing is then subjected to 
the same scrutiny. An observer is surprised at the thorough- 
ness of this search. The superintendent's keen eye sees a 
dozen marks which he would never notice, and each one is 
carefully noted down in the register of the establishment, to- 
gether with a detailed statement of the manner of the death 
of the deceased, his or her age, sex, and probable condition 
in life. The body is then exposed to view in the public 
room, and every facility is afforded to persons wishing to 
identify it. Failing in this, it is buried, as I have said, and 
the Morgue is paid by the city the sum of seven and a half 
francs for each interment. 

The number of dead bodies brought to the Morgue has 
steadily increased of late years, and it is said that it will soon 
be necessary to establish a second dead house in another part 
of the city. In 1816, the institution received 802 corpses ; 
in 1856, 175, in 1866, 733, and during the first nine months 
of 1868, 697. Of the 783 bodies received in 1866, the regis 
ter shows that 486 were men, 86 women, and 161 infants 
Of this number 485 were identified, and of these 285 com 
mitted suicide by drowning; 19 were homicides ; 36 hanged 
themselves ; 5 killed themselves with firearms, and 3 with 
knives; 3 suffocated themselves with the fumes of charcoal; 
6 took poison ; 8 died from starvation ; and 82 died suddenly 
in the streets. 



154 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

It is stated that the Morgue reaps its richest harvest in June 
and July, the months of December and January being its dull 
season. Stock gambling and the various speculations of the 
Bourse send many victims here, and it is said that the great- 
est number of infants' bodies are brought here, with unvary- 
ing regularity, nine months after the Carnival. 

A stone blind stands in the main hall before the door, to 
cut off' the view from the street, and, in entering, you pass 
around this, and find yourself in a moderate sized hall, lighted ■ 
from the top. A door on each side leads to the private apart- 
ments and the of&ces of the establishment, and in front of you 
rises a partition of iron and glass, before which a curtain is 
sometimes lowered. An iron rail protects the glass from the 
pressure of the crowd, and occasionally an official passes 
through the apartment narrowly watching the faces and con- 
duct of the spectators. 

At a certain hour of the day the curtain is raised, and dis- 
closes a ghastly sight. Six stone tables extend along the 
room, immediately behind the glass, and on each is laid a dead 
body, naked except as to a cloth thrown over the loins, A 
fearful company they are, in truth, as they lie there, pale and 
rigid, their ghastly features lighted by the chilly gleams which 
fall from the windows above. A stream of cold water flows 
over each body and trickles away down the sides of the 
marble slab. Here is the corpse of a woman, old, shrivelled 
and yellow. Its matted hair and its dank, slimy aspect, tell 
that it was fished up from the Seine this morning. On the 
next slab is the body of an infant, its little life of suffering 
over. It is another victim of the Seine, Next to it is a man 
young and well made. He smothered himself with charcoal, 
the superintendent tells us. By his side a young girl rests 
well on her icy bed. Turn away, my tender hearted friend, 
for she is fair as well as young, and it is a pity to expose this 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 155 

matcliless form to the rude gaze of the crowd without the 
rail. The superintendent shrugs his shoulders, in reply to 
your question, and answers coolly, "A grisette, Monsieur. 
We have such cases once in awhile, but they are not so 
frequent as formerly." A man, old, bent, and full of sor- 
rows, no doubt, is her companion on the other side. He was 
found in the streets, and the register gives starvation as the 
cause of his death. Yes, in this bright, beautiful citv, this 
poor creature died for want of bread. Think of it as you en- 
joy your dainties to-night at the Grand Hotel. You may 
well shudder as you gaze at the occupant of the last table, for 
he is a being of a different order from his silent companions, 
a gentleman, evidently. There is a deep wound in his side, 
and the purple spots about his neck confirm the horrible sus- 
picion which at once springs up in your mind. Even the 
cool, clear headed superintendent turns a shade more sallow 
as he answers your inquiring look, with a whispered, "Mar- 
dered, Monsieur. For his money, doubtless." 

The place has a close, sickening smell, and the crowd press 
heavily against you in their eagerness to see the horrid spec- 
tacle. Come out into the street, into the pure air once more, 
and recover yourself, and then return with me and complete 
your survey of the place. 

On the walls back of the tables, are suspended the clothing 
of the unfortunates before you, and of many who have been 
buried. Thej^ hang here in the hope, oftentimes a vain hope, 
that some friend may come along and recognize them. They 
form a strange collection, but they speak chiefly of poverty 
and suffering. Blouses and coarse skirts constitute the bulk 
of the stock, for the better classes rarely come here. It is 
chiefly poverty which points the way to the Morgue. Out 
of fifteen or twenty sets of clothing, one will seldom find 



156 PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

more than one or two which have belonged to persons of 
"respectability," so called. 

The most curious feature of all, is the utter indifference 
which the people manifest, who come to view this horrible 
spectacle. Do not imagine that the throng in front of the 
railing has been attracted here in the hope of discovering 
friends or relatives. No such thing. The Morgue is a great 
place of resort for the people of the quarter in which it is 
situated. They come here in crowds every day, drawn to it 
by a peculiar fascination which even they themselves cannot 
comprehend. Mothers come here with their children, the 
husband brings his wife, the lover his mistress, and children 
come by the score of their own accord — and for what ? To 
gaze upon the poor wretches who lie here so stark and still. It 
astonishes an Anglo Saxon to see the levity with which all 
classes treat the dead lying here, and it does not increase his 
respect for the people of Paris to see men crowd around 
the bodies of the women, and indulge in coarse and obscene re- 
marks concerning them. Stand in one of these crowds for ten 
minutes, and the pity and horror with which the dead have 
inspired you, will be forgotten in your disgust and contempt 
for the living. True, the spectators are of the lower classes, 
but they are, nevertheless, men and women ; and you cannot 
resist the conviction that these public displays have not im- 
proved the morals of the quarter. Besides, has not the lot 
of the poor creatures brought here been hard enough, with- 
out exposing them to an ordeal from which they would have 
shrunk while living ? 

The scenes to be witnessed at this place are often painful and 
touching. If an individual is missing in the city, the first 
impulse of his friends is to seek him at the Morgue. Suicide 
is so common in Paris that one does not know how soon his 
dearest friend may resort to it. Never look so careless, my 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 157 

rosy lass, happy in the fancied security of the love of him 
upon whose arm you lean. You know not how soon you 
may be lying where that poor grisette stares so horribly at 
the cold walls. It may be next year, or it may be next week. 
And you, my brave ouvi'ier, may find that good right arm 
less powerful than you think it now. Sickness may waste 
its strength, or " hard times" force it into idleness, and want 
and poverty, darker and more terrible than yon have ever 
imagined, may drive even you to the Seine. 



IX. 
PARISIAN HOTELS. 

As a rule the Frencli hotels are far inferior to our own. 
They are neither as convenient nor as well managed. Of 
late years, however, there has been a decided improvement 
in the hotels of Paris, and the city can boast at least two 
which are even superior to American establishments of a 
similar character. These are the Grand Hotel and the Grand 
H6tel du Louvre. The former is situated on the Boulevard 
des Capucines^ adjoining the square of the New Opera, and 
the latter on the Hue de Rivoli, opposite the Louvre, 

The Grand Hdtel is in every respects worthy of its name. 
It is situated in one of the most delightful parts of Paris. It 
faces the Boulevard des Capucines, and is thus on the main 
promenade of the city. On its left is the New Opera, and 
almost facing it, the Rue de la Paix. A little distance to the 
right is the beautiful Boulevard de la Madeleine and the 
church of the same name. The Tuileries gardens, the Place 
de la Concorde^ and the Champs Ely sees are but five minutes' 
distant, and the Bourse and the Palais Royal are equally 
near. The location is thoroughly central to all parts of the 
city, and is, indeed, the very heart of Paris. 

The building itself is immense, and is bounded on all sides 
by wide streets. In front is the Boulevard, on the right the 
Square of the New Opera and the Rue Auber, the latter of 
which also bounds the rear of the edifice, and on the left the 
Rue /Scribe. A very fair idea of its immense size and mag- 

158 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 159 

niflcent appearance may be obtained from the engraving 
accompanying this chapter. The hotel is built of a light- 
colored stone, and the exterior is handsomely ornamented 
with carvings, and with a row of splendid pilasters extending 
from the top of the ground-floor to the balcony surrounding 
the third floor, and reaching entirely around the building. 
Above the fourth story from the ground (the third floor of the 
hotel) rises a handsome mansard roof, pierced with the win- 
dows of the fourth floor, above which is still another floor. 
Pretty iron balconies extend around the house at the first, 
third, and fourth floors, and upon these open the long win- 
doAvs of the rooms of those stories. The ground floor is 
occupied with shops and cafes along the street, some of which 
open into the court-yard of the hotel. Seen from the street, 
the house is one of the prettiest sights in Paris. Start from 
the principal gateway on the Boulevard, and walk around 
the building back to the point from which you started, and 
you will consume over ten minutes, going at a moderately 
quick pace. 

The principal entrance is from the Boulevard, in the 
centre of the building. Pass in through the heavy arch- 
way, and you come at once to the prettiest place in the 
whole quarter — the grand court. It is a large yard, about 
one hundred feet square, bounded on all four sides by the 
chambers and sitting-rooms of the hotel. Oftentimes the win- 
dows are open, affording a sight of the luxuriolis apartments 
within, or, still better, they are filled with faces representing 
almost every nationality under Heaven, gazing down upon 
the interesting scene below. The yard is paved with marble 
flags, and arched over above with a roof of iron and glass. 
It is ornamented with statues, fountains and shrubbery. 
Opposite the archway is a large clock, illuminated at night, 
and below it a marble balcony, upon which open the door 



160 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

and the long windows of the gorgeous reading-room be- 
vond. On the left of the balcony is an elevator for conyey- 
ing guests from the yard to the floors on which they dwell, 
and to the right and left of the balcony are massive marble 
stairs extending to the top of the house, each one leading 
to a different portion of the building. On the right and in 
front of the balcony are the principal offices of the estab- 
lishment, and an elevator for transporting baggage to the 
various floors. 

In its internal arrangements, the Grand JECdtel forms a dis- 
tinct community of its own — a separate town in the heart 
of the great city. It contains seven hundred chambers and 
seventy sitting-rooms, drawing-rooms, etc. Its service is dis- 
charged by sixty waiters, thirty cooks, twenty-five washer- 
women, and an unknown number of doorkeepers, grooms, 
house-servants, and chambermaids. It is usually crowded 
with guests, and at such times contains about twelve hun- 
dred inhabitants besides its attaches. It has itg own tele- 
graph, communicating between the various parts of the 
house, its own post-office, its own cafe, its own barber shop, 
its own cigar-store, its own tailor shop, (one of the best in 
the city,) its own optician, and its own book-store. Above 
all it has its own newspaper — La Gazette des Etrangers (The 
Stranger's Gazette) — written, edited, and printed in the 
hotel, and slipped, free of charge, under the door of each 
chamber evefy morning. This gossipy little sheet is edited 
by no less a person than M. Henri de P^re, famous both as 
a writer and a duellist, and one of its features is the daily 
publication of the bills of fare of the leading restaurants and 
caf^s of the city, by means of which the stranger is enabled 
to select his breakfast and the place of breakfasting before 
leaving his chamber. 

The hotel is divided into three distinct quarters — Quartiel 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 161 

de Scribe, Quartier du Boulevard, and Quartier de I'Opdra. 
JEach of these quarters constitutes a complete establishment, 
and manages its affairs without reference to those of the 
others. The hotel has fifteen immense passages, which 
cross each other at regular points, besides several smaller 
passage-ways. At the corners -of these passages, or streets, 
tin signs ornamented with brass letters direct strangers to 
the different portions of the house and quarter. Without 
these signs guests would be continually losing their way in 
the long corridors, and even persons thoroughly familiar 
with the house are often perplexed as to their localities, and 
forced to seek the assistance of the signs. These passages 
are covered with rich carpets, into which your feet sink 
noiselessly, and are ornamented with mirrors, frescoes, and 
paintings. At night they are brilliantly lighted ; in summer 
they are cool and shady, and in winter warm and snug, form- 
ing at all times and in all seasons a series of extensive and 
pleasant promenades. 

Each floor, in each separate quarter, is in charge of a sepa- 
rate set of servants, and has its own office, in which some 
one is on the watch at all hours of the day and night. Each 
chamber has a dial-plate, covered with a glass face, set in the 
wall. By touching an ivory knob over the dial-plate you 
telegraph the number of your room to the office of your 
floor. A steel indicator flies around to the right as you touch 
the knob. The servant in charge of the office, upon hearing 
your signal, resets the alarm before him, and causes the in- 
dicator on your dial to return to its original position, by 
which you are informed that your call has been heard and 
will be answered at onCe. In going out, you leave your key 
at this office, and find it there upon your return. If you 
come in after midnight, however, you will have to apply to 
the concierge at the street entrance for it. 
11 



162 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

The chambers and sitting-rooms are furnished with a 
degree of splendor corresponding to the price asked for 
them, but even the cheapest are equal to any room in a first- 
class 'American hotel, The plainest chambers on the upper 
floors are handsomely carpeted, and provided with large 
mirrors, a timepiece, a bureau, a dressing-table, large arm- 
chairs, and a bed which is the very perfection of comfort. 
About everything there is a luxuriousness and comfort 
which must be seen to be appreciated. The higher-priced 
rooms are magnificent, and are fitted up with every luxury. 
The prices range from four to thirty francs per day. 

At night, the grand court is brilliantly lighted, and is 
crowded with representatives of every nation. Ladies sit 
amongst the oleandars on the balcony, and sip their refresh- 
ments ; and down in the court-yard the men play dominoes 
and drink their wine and brandy. In the adjoining (7a/e, the 
rattle of glasses and the sharp click of billiard-balls is heard 
above the babel of voices. In the rear of the balcony is a 
magnificent saloon, filled with persons reading and writing, 
and presided over by a pompous official, whose chain and 
badge of shining silver announce his position. A civil fel- 
low he is, too, well posted as to city matters, speaking 
English like a native, and ready to assist you with any in- 
formation — for a gratuity. The tables are filled with jour- 
nals from all parts of the world, amongst which the New 
York dailies figure prominently. As for the room itself, go 
read the Arabian Nights and you can form some idea of it. 
Carriages are dashing into and leaving the court-yard every 
moment, adding to and taking from the throng of guests. 
"The king and the commons" both lodge here — titled and 
untitled share the hospitality of the house. It is a great 
rendezvous for Americans, who find about it much to remind 
them of home, and who are almost always pleased with the 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 163 

energetic and intelligent manner in which its business is 
conducted, . 

The Grand S6iel du Louvre ranks next, both in size and 
magnificence, and is owned and managed by the company 
owning and conducting the Grand Mdiel. The new Hutel de 
VAihenee, in Rue Scribe, opposite the Grand Sutal^ is also 
much liked by American visitors. 

Besides these, are a number of first-class Houses, all more 
or less splendid, and some of them very expensive ; but as 
they are managed chiefly after English models, an American 
is not apt to find them as comfortable as the houses named 
above. In all the hotels, however, the guest pays merely 
for his room and attendance. Should he take his meals in 
the house, or make other purchases, he is charged according 
to his orders, which he can regulate to suit himself In all, 
guests are requested not to fee the servants — a polite wa}'' 
perhaps, of reminding them to do so, for woe be to him who 
endeavors to comply with the request. 

As in all large cities, many of the hotels of Paris are 
patronized by special classes. Some are visited by mer- 
chants only, others by professional men, others by students, 
and others by tourists. The English do not, as a rule, 
patronize the houses frequented by Americans, but confine 
themselves to the cheerless establishments which are simply 
magnificent at the expense of comfort. Persons of all 
cla^s and nations intending to remain long in the city, 
usually go into lodgings which are very much cheaper after 
the first few days. 



X. 

STREET TRAVELLING. 

« 

I. 

THE CABS. 

No city in the world is so well supplied with vehicles 
for hire as Paris. Its cab system has been brought to a state 
of perfection impossible, perhaps, in any city less thoroughly 
governed. The majority of the vehicles are open, or can be 
made so by means of a sliding top, and are drawn by one 
horse. The drivers are clad in a livery established by law, 
consisting of a tall hat with a glazed cover, a black coat and 
red Avaistcoat, with gilt buttons, and pants of a butternut hue. 
As a rule they are polite and attentive, but there are some 
surly dogs amongst them. If you meet with these, hand 
them over to the police without mercy. It is the only way 
to deal with them. 

There are at least ten thousand carriages for hire in the 
city. They are divided into two classes called Voitures de 
Place, those which stand on the street for hire, and Voihires 
de Remise, or those which are hired from a coach house. Th 
latter are more expensive than the former, but are generally 
cleaner. The drivers of both classes are under the strict 
surveillance of the police, and are punished severely for any 
ill treatment of their passengers. Vehicles are hired by the 
course, or by the hour, and the charges are regulated by a 
164 



PARIS BT SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 165 

fixed tariff established bj the police. The course is gecerally 
any distance which can be accomplished in fifteen minutes. 
It is cheaper to take a carriage by the hour in going a long 
distance. The diSerence in the price is trifling, and a trouble- 
some dispute "with the driver may be often avoided in this 
way. 

Yoitures de place, of two places, or seats, taken from the 
public street, cost one franc fifty centimes by the drive, and 




Parisian Carriages. 

two francs by the hour. Those with four seats cost one 
franc seventy centimes by the drive, and two francs twenty- 
five centimes by the hour. Voitures de Reviise, taken from 
their stands cost as follows : Two-seat carriages, by the drive 
one franc eighty centimes, by the hour two francs twenty-five 
centimes. Four-seat carriages, by the drive two francs, by 
the hour two francs fifty centimes (fifty cents American 
money.) During the winter months, the charges are a little 



166 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

more, but not much. Beyond the fortifications the fares are 
much higher, and at certain times the cabman is not obliged 
to pass the gates. 

Upon entering a carriage, you are handed a small ticket by 
the driver, containing a printed list of the fares, and the num- 
ber of the vehicle. This ticket should always be retained, as it 
is an effectual check upon the cabman. It enables you al- 
wsijs to identify your vehicle and driver, and is prima facie 
evidence in law that you have occupied the cab. Should you 
leave anj of your property in the cab, you have only to re- 
pair to the office of the Company owning the vehicle, the ad- 
dress of which is printed on the ticket, and make known your 
loss, with the number of the cab. Should you fail to recover 
your property, apply to the police and deliver your ticket to 
the sergeant in charge of the station at which you lodge your 
complaint. In ninety-nine cases out of a huudred, however, 
there will be no necessity to invoke the assistance of the 
police. If the cabman's own sense of right does not prompt 
him to make restitution, his fear of the law will accomplish 
the same result. 

It is customary to give the cabman, in addition to his fare, 
a small sum as a. pour boire. Custom has fixed this at from 
two to four sous by the drive, and from four to ten sous by 
the hour. No cabman can exact a pour boire from a fare, but 
only the most ill-natured refuse it, as the price of the drive 
belongs to the owners of the vehicle, and the pour boire to the 
driver. It must not be supposed that all the drink money 
thus given goes for liquors. Cabmen are proverbially thirsty, 
it is true, but the gratuities they receive go in a great meas- 
ure to make up the difference between their living expenses 
and their slender wages. They are rigidly watched by in- 
spectors and spies, and must pay out of their own pockets for 
all the time for which they cannot account satisfactorily. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 167 

As a rule, they are clever fellows, and very intelligent. 
They know all the localities, are running over with gossip 
:uid scandal, and are generally ready to communicate their 
knowledge. 

The vehicles themselves, are neat and clean, and are deci-- 
dedly more comfortable than those of any other ciTy in the' 
world. You will find them standing in long rows at stated 
places, or " stations " in the street, each station being in charge 
of a superintendent appointed for the purpose by the Prefect 
of the Seine. He has power to settle all differences between 
drivers and their fares, but one may appeal from his decision to 
the police. 



THE OMNIBUSES. 

Those whose fate it has been to travel in the "Broadway- 
stages" of our American metropolis, will hardly fail to ap- 
preciate the excellencies of the Parisian omnibus. 

This mode of conveyance originated at Paris during the^ 
reign of Louis XIIT., and it seems but natural that it should, 
here obtain its highest development. The first attempt to in- 
troduce it proved a failure, and during the Begency and the- 
reign of Louis XIY. other efforts to establish it met the same 
fate. In 1828 omnibuses appeared once more on the streets, 
and this time were found so useful that they have been in 
constant service ever since, becoming more popular every 
year. 

. Previous to 1855, there were in Paris twelve different kinds ^ 
of omnibuses, owned by as many different companies, travers- 
, ing the streets in various directions, and known as Omnibuses^ 
HirondeUes, Parisiennes, Favorites^ Tricycles^ etc. In 1855, a cor- 
poration was established under the name of the General 



168 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Omnibus Company, {Gompagnie generale des omnibus), which 
consolidated all the various lines under one management. The 
coaches of this Company now run regularly upon thirty-one 
different routes. 

The vehicles themselves are strongly made, and are hand- 
somely painted and ornamented. They are larger and stouter- 
looking than our own coaches, and besides containing a double 
row of seats inside, have a similar number ranged back to 
back along the centre of the roof. This upper section is 
called the Imperial, and is the best place for seeing the city. 
The fare to any part of Paris, within the fortifications, is six 
sous for an inside seat, and 3 sous for one on top. Should it 
be necessary to change to another route in order to reach 
one's destination, a ticket of correspondence is given, upon 
application, by the conductor. Inside passengers a<e entitled 
to a correspondence without extra charge, but those on 
top must pay three sous, in addition to their fare^ to obtain it. 
One may enter a coach at any point along the route if there 
is room, and may leave it at pleasure, but there are regular 
stations at which changes from one line to another must 
be made, and where one is almost always sure of obtaining a 
seat. These stations may be distinguished by a blue sign- 
board bearing the name of the Company, and generally by 
the crowd of coaches and passengers collected around them. 
Each ticket obtained here is numbered. There are fourteen 
places inside, and the same number on the roof. When a 
coach arrives at a station, the ofl&cial in charge ascertains 
the number of vacancies, and calls the numbers of the tickets 
sold, from the lowest to the highest. No one can enter a 
coach until the number of his ticket is called, and when all 
the inside places are filled, passengers can choose between 
riding on top, if there is a vacancy, or waiting for another 
coach. When all the seats on top and below are filled, the 



# 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 1G9 

conductor sets up a little sign over the door, marked " Com- 
fleV ("full"), and no one is allowed to enter the vehicle 
until there is a vacancy. In this way every passenger is given 
a seat, and there is none of the crowding and squeezing 
which render English and American public conveyances so 
uncomfortable. The officials are all attentive and polite, and 
usually receive similar treatment in return. Courtesy is 
cheap in Paris, and is universal. Why not import a few 
Parisian drivers and conductors, and set them to work to 
teach manners to our own unwashed street-car people ? 

Each coach is in charge of a conductor, who is responsible 
for everything except the management of the horses, that 
being confided to the driver alone. The conductor stands on 
the door-step, "and holds on to a strap as his coach dashes 
along. In some of the larger and finer vehicles, especially 
those running from the Place du Havre^ the step is protected 
by a double door-way, and the conductor's station made more 
comfortable than it is in the majority of the lines. As a 
passenger enters, the conductor registers him by a little ma- 
chine above the door. This register is examined by the 
official in charge of the line, and the total number of passen- 
gers thus ascertained. The different lines are distinguished 
by the color of the coaches and the letters painted on them, 
by day, and at night by the color of their lamps. 

Distinct lines of omnibuses run from the various railway 
depots to certain parts of the city by prescribed routes. Their 
movements are so arranged as to correspond with the arrival 
and departure of the trains, and they take up or set down 
passengers at any point along their routes for a small fare. 
Family omnibuses, with from six to fourteen seats, may be 
liired to meet passengers at the stations, or to convey them, 
thither, or for excursipns. 

Another line, called the "American Railway" [Chemin de 



170 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Fqt Americairi)^ connects tlie nortliern end of the Pont Neuf 
with Passj, Auteuil, the Bois de Boulogne, Saint Cloud, 
Billancoart, Sevres, Viroflay, and Yersailles. It is so called 
because of its supposed resemblance to an American street 
railway-car. From the Pojit Neuf to the southwestern ex- 
tremity of the Place de la Concorde, the coach is moved on 
wheels similar to those of any ordinary vehicle. It is a long 
narrow stage, like those which formerly conveyed through- 
passengers from one railway station to another in American 
cities, except that it is provided with seats on top, and has a 
double stairway at the back end. It is drawn by four stout 
horses, and rattles through the streets at a lively rate. Upon 
reaching the lower end of the Place de la Concorde, a halt is 
made, the axles are raised simultaneously by lifting-screws, 
the wheels removed, and their place supplied by a second set 
of iron wheels with flanges. The vehicle is then lowered on 
to an iron tramway resembling the track of an American 
street railway, and the journey is resumed. The route to 
Versailles lies through a pretty country, but it is terribly 
dusty in dry weather. 

The steamboat omnibuses have already been described, 
and I can only say here that they afford, whenever practica- 
ble, the pleasantest means of reaching the places along their 
route. 

The railways leading from the city are all crossed, near 
the fortifications, by a belt road which entirely encircles 
Paris just within the defences. This road was built princi- 
pally because of its military importance, and affords a means 
of rapid communication between the various points along 
the line of works, but it is used for the purposes of ordinary 
travel, and passenger trains pass over it frequently each day. 



XL 
THE GARDENS OF THE TUILERIES. 

Turn off the Boulevards at the Rue de la Paix, follow 
that street across the Place Venddme, keep on through the 
Hue de Gastiglione, cross the Bzce de Bivoli^ and descend the 
stone steps on the opposite side, and you will find yourself 
in one of the pleasantest spots in the great city — in the 
Gardens of the Tuileries. 

The grounds now included in the garden comprise an area 
of about sixty-seven acres, and were laid out originally by 
Le Notre during the reign of Louis XIV. Since then they 
have been considerably altered. The Rue de Rivoli forms 
their northern boundary, and the Seine washes the southern 
wall. At the eastern end is the Palace of the Tuileries, and 
the western gates open upon the Place de la Concorde. Two 
sloping terraces are seen at the western end. That border- 
ing the Rue de Rivoli is called the Terrassedes Feuillants^ from 
the old convent of that name that stood there; and that along 
the Seine, the Terrasse du Bord de VEau. The latter is a 
favorite walk of the Emperor, and is connected with the 
private garden by means of a bridge, which enables his 
Majesty to reach it and enjoy his walk without passing 
through the public grounds. The trees on the terraces were 
planted by order of the National Convention, and the 
statues in the grounds were, with a few exceptions, added 
during the Restoration. The gardens are laid off very nearly 

as follows : In front of the Palace is a series of public walks, 

171 



172 PARIS BY SUN-LIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

bordered by flower-beds and tall hedges ; in the centre is a 
fine grove of horse chestnut trees ; and west of that, another 
broad walk, and a series of flower-beds. The portion near- 
est the palace is kept with the greatest care, and is divided 
from the rest of the grounds by a sunken fence, with a 
sloping greensward, and white stone finishings. The part 
thus enclosed constitutes the private garden of the palace, 
and forms the play-ground of the Prince Imperial. When 
the Imperial family are absent it is free to the public. 
Groups of statuary — some indifferent, and some very fine — 
ornament the grounds, both public and private, and several 
fountains, in various parts, add to the attractions of the -place. 
A fine avenue stretches from the central pavilion of the pal- 
ace across the grounds to the western gates, and is in line 
with the beautiful Avenue of the Champs Elys^es, which 
begins just across the Place de la Concorde. If you stand in 
front of the palace in this avenue and gaze westward, the 
view is unbroken back to the Arc de Trmnphe, on the heights 
beyond. Eight fine gateways lead into the gardens, five on 
the side of the Bue de EivoU, two on the side of the river, and 
one at the Place de la Concorde. At each gate stands a 
sentinel to prevent the intrusion of men in blouses, persons 
with heavy parcels, and dogs. A different branch of the 
service is represented by each sentinel, so that in passing the 
various gateways one may see specimens of nearly all the 
vmiforms in the French army. 

The principal fountain stands in the middle of a fine 
octagonal basin in a line with the centre of the palace, and 
near the western gates. On the north side, which is sheltered 
from the northerly and easterly winds, and warmed by the 
genial rays of the sun, is the pleasant parterre known as La 
Petite Provence (Little Provence) the favorite resort of in- 
valids, old men, and nurses. Here you may see the two 



c 




PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 175 

extremes of French humanity, old age and infancy, in all 
their perfection. Widely as they seem to be separated by 
Time, they resemble each other in one thing — both love the 
sunshine and the warmth. 

" There is nothing so delightful to see or hear as theso 
little Parisian children. Their mothers have exhausted a;J 
their ingenious maternal coquetry in adorning them ; they 
lavish upon their persons, lace, embroidery, or velvet ; while 
the children themselves, careless, as is natural at their age, 
thinking only of pleasure, engage in a thousand games of 
skill, and a thousand trials of strength, in which they already 
show their dexterity and their courage. The boys challenge 
each other to run races, play tennis, or to wrestle; they clasp 
each other in their arms, they roll upon the gravel, like 
beautiful serpents interlaced ; tlieir arms, their legs, even 
their hair can hardly be distinguished ; it is a delightful con- 
fusion. And in these honorable wrestlings there are no cries, 
no tears, no alarm ; he who is beaten rises and recommences 
the fight. Others less petulant dispute already, in imitation 
of the philosophers in the gardens of Academus. All the 
instincts of these children are revealed at this time, and you 
do not need much observation to see that already they are 
noble and honorable. Amongst the girls, you will, in the 
same way, find all the preferences of the woman. This one, 
young as she is, is nevertheless a coquette, and delights in 
her little white frock waving over two small feet that can 
hardly be seen ; that one, pensive and solitary, dreams of 
heaven, as she repeats in a low voice the- beautiful verses of 
Lamartine ; others, spirited and bold as the boys, mingle 
heedlessly in their games and — tyrants at nine years old I — 
bend them to all their childish caprices. How many have I 
seen, who in ten years will be exquisitely beautiful, with 
their graceful figures, tlieir luxuriant hair, and their small 



17(5 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

hands. The mothers watch them, with tears in the eyes, and 
joy in the heart. The Parisian mother is proud of her son; 
she is happy in her daughter. A young mother who holds 
by the hand her boy of six years ©Id, walks along as proud 
and as satisfied, as if she had the arm of a Marshal of France. 
A young mother, who sees her daughter of six years old 
seated at her side, is as uneasy as if that daughter was twenty. 
There is no city in the world, where children are treated 
more like rational beings, than in Paris. They themselves 
understand, wonderfully, all the dignity, I had almost said 
all the majesty, of childhood. Their servants speak to them 
respectfully, their parents tenderly; the boys are saluted just 
in the same way, as if they were men. As many obsequious 
flatteries are lavished on little girls, as on young women. 
The Parisian child dines with his father and mother, he 
passes the day in his mother's room, by her side, he walks 
with her, he sees her tears and her smiles ; he is proud of 
his father's success ; while yet young, he knows the history 
of his family, his fortunes, his hopes, his reverses ; he is grave, 
and yet what distinguishes him above all other children, is, 
that while in his very infancy a mauj he remains for a long 
time, completely a child." 

Thus wrote an observant Frenchman, who watched Little 
Provence one summer afternoon in 1843. So long ago, and 
yet how little the place and its frequenters have changed. 
Tell me, you who have seen it, is not this pretty scene of to- 
day painted to the life in the words quoted above. 

How the old men watch the little fellows at their sport ! 
Would yvu like to go back to your childhood, my graybeard ? 
And you, my ancient, keep your eye on the prett}' paetirnes 
before you, and let the nurses alone. You liave passed the 
time for such tricks, and were your hearing a little better j'-ou 
might find that your amorous glances only draw from their 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 177 

natty white capped objects remarks not calculated to flatter 
you. 

" Do you see that old dotard blinking at me, Christine, my 
friend ? And he hasn't a tooth in his head." 

" The garden of the Tuileries is the most delightful place 
in the world," wrote Jules Janin twenty-seven years ago, and 
his countrymen of to-day seem to share his opinion, for they 
flock here at all hours of the day, " in the summer, because 
the garden abounds with shade and flowers, in the winter, 
because it is one of the places where the sun shows itself — 
pale and watery, it is true, but still it is the sun." 

Come here on a summer afternoon if you wish to see the 
garden in its glory. Give a couple of sous to the old woman 
in charge of the chairs, and rest yourself on one of these 
wicker seats under the branching horse chestnuts. The 
grounds are full of promenaders, and nearly every chair is 
occupied by those who are tired of walking. There are few 
places in Paris, few places in the world, where you can see 
at the same moment so many beautiful women, so many ex- 
quisite toilettes. Far off, through the trees, are the lovers 
wandering arm in arm, on the outskirts of the crowd, which 
knows them by the walks they frequent, and good naturedly 
lets them alone. Here come all who can provide themselves 
with finery to display, and many who cannot. You see a 
number of the hewers of wood and drawers of water here, 
strolling about with an awkard, half-shy air, but the greater 
portion of those present belong to the better classes. It is a 
very animated, attractive scene, and you watch it with the 
keenest interest, but in spite of you your thoughts wander 
away to the times when the fieixe Sa7is Qulottes swarmed 
und^- the ti-ees and over the pretty flower beds, to wrest the 
old palace from the children of St. Louis, and you find it hard 
to realize that the heads of a king an<'' a queen fell so near to 
12 



178 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

you in the beautiful square beyond the garden wall, that you 
could have heard the horrid sound of the axe from where you 
are sitting. Can it be that the leaves now so musical with 
the evening breeze ever quivered with the fierce throbbing 
of cannon? And did the feet of the world's conqueror ever 
tread the old walk where yours are resting now? It is all so 
strange, so far away, so different from to-day, that you can 
scarcely realize it. 

A burst of music swells up from under the trees, and the 
hum of voices dies away. It is the band of the Imperial 
Guard, commencing the afternoon concert, for which the gar- 
den is famous. Lover of music, here is a treat for you, which 
you may enjoy daily. Sometimes this band will entrance you 
with its wonderful melody, sometimes another, but the music 
will always be good, and the performance in keeping with it. 

It is six o'clock. The concert is over, and the crowd is 
dispersing, each one seeking his dinner. The sun setting over 
the Arc de Triomphe sends a flood of light down the long 
avenue of the Champs Elysees^ and through the gardens, and 
stains the worn facade of the old palace beyond with a thou- 
sand different hues, and gazing at the half open windows 
through which its yellow rays are streaming, you wonder if 
it shines as brightly to the weary man who sits within, as to 
you whose greatest care will be drowned in your bottle of 
Chamhertin before the twilight has fairly settled down. 



XII. 

PLACE DE GRIiVE. 

One of the prettiest squares in the city is the Place de V 
Hotel de Ville, which fronts the great town-hall of Paris. It 
is occupied now with rows of magnificent houses, and one 
would never think from its present appearance that it was 
once one of the accursed spots of the city. Yet so it was, for 
it is none other than the historic old Place de Orhve^ the chief 
place of execution, under a new name. 

" There remains now," says Victor Hugo, writing twenty 
years ago, " but one" nearly imperceptible vestige of the Place 
de Greve, such as it then existed. It is the charming turret 
which occupies the northern angle of the square, which, al- 
ready spoiled by the ignoble plastering that has filled up the 
clear, deep cutting of its sculpture, will have soon gone from 
sight, perhaps, submerged by the flood of new houses which 
so rapidly swallows up the old structures of Paris. 

" The persons who, like us, never pass the square without 
letting a glance of pity and sympathy dwell on the poor tower 
squeezed between two ruins of the time of Louis XV., may 
easily reconstruct in their mind the whole aspect of the edi- 
fices to which it belonged, and restore entire the old Gothic 
enclosure of the Fifteenth Century. 

" It was, as to-day, an irregular trapezium, bordered on 
one side by the quay, and on the three others by a series of 

* This tower, too, has shared the fate of the old houses. — Author. 

179 



180 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

lofty houses, narrow and dark. In the daytime admiration 
had its fill, in the variety of fronts, all carved in wood or 
stone, and presenting already complete samples of the dif- 
ferent domestic architecture of the Middle Ages, going back 
from the fifteenth to the eleventh century, from the croisee, 
Avhich commenced to overturn the ogive, to the Eoman semi- 
circular arches, which had been supplanted by the ogive, and 
which still covers the first floor of the ancient dwelling in 
Roland's Tower, corner of the Place sur Seine, on the side 
of the Rue de la Tannerie. At night naught could be dis- 
tinguished of that mass except the black edge of the roofs, 
rolling around the square their chain of sharp angles. For 
it is one of the radical differences of towers then, and towers 
noAv, that at this day it is the fronts that face the streets, 
while then it was the gable-end. Since two centuries dwell- 
ings have executed a turn. 

" In the middle of the eastern side of the square rose a 
heav}^, hybrid building, formed of three erections jumbled 
together. They were called by as many different titles, 
which explain the history of each, their intended use, and 
architecture : the Maison au Dauphin, (Dauphin's House,) 
because Charles V., when the Dauphin, there dwelt ; the 
Marchandise, because it was used as town-hall ; Maison aux 
Piliers, (Domus ad Piloria^ House with the Pillars,) on ac- 
count of a series of thick columns upholding its three floors. 
The city found there all required by a good city like Paris : 
a chapel to pray in, n, plaidoyer to listen to complaints, and at 
need to pay off the king's people with sharp answers; and, 
to sum up, an arsenal full of artiller3^ For the Parisians 
knew that it was not enough in every juncture to complain 
and argue for the city franchises, and they constantl}^ held 
in reserve, in a loft of the city-hall, several well-mounted 
wnll-uuns. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 181 

The Greve had thence that frowning aspect which is 
handed down to this day by the execrable idea it arouses 
and by the gloomy hall by Dominique Bocador, which has 
replaced the House with the Pillars. It must be admitted 
that a gibbet and a permanent pillory, a justice and a ladder, 
as they said then, reared side by side midway on the road, 
contributed no little in repulsing eyes from that fatal spot, 
whereon so many beings full of health and life had writhed 
out their last agony ; from whence, fifty years later, was to 
be born that ' Saint Vallier fever,' that malady of the ter- 
ror of the scaffold, most monstrous of all ails, forasmuch as 
it came not from heaven, but man." 

The square is bounded on the north by the Rue de Rivoli, 
and on the south by the Seine, which is crossed here by the 
Pont d'Arcole. At the eastern side rises the magnificent 
facade of the Hotel de ViUe, opposite which the Avenue 
Victoria stretches away to the Place du Ghdtelet. The houses 
on each side of this avenue, facing the square, are occupied 
by various bureaux of the City Government. 

The old square, which derived its name from the Gr^ve, or 
shore, on the river's bank, has entirely disappeared. The 
old houses have been pulled down, the street has been re- 
paved, and since 1830, no executions have taken place here. 
If you peep around the corner of the H6tel de Ville, you will 
see two splendid barracks filled with troops — a happy arrange- 
ment since this square has always been one of the chief 
centres of Eevolution. 

Bright, lively, and cheerful as it is now, it was a famous 
place of horrors in its time. Louis XI. made good use of it 
in his day. In 1495 he cut off the head of the great Consta- 
ble de St. Pol almost on the very steps of the first Hotel de 
Ville. Here, in 1559, perished the Counsellor Dubourg, a 
martyr to the truth of his religious convictions. Here, on 



182 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

the 27tli of May, 1574, the brave Count of Montgomery, 
whose only crime was that he had accidentally slain King 
Henry II. in a tournament, was put to death with horrible 
tortures. Catharine de Medicis stood at a window of the old 
town-hall to witness this terrible deed, and brought with her 
the young King Charles IX., and his relative, Henry of Nar- 
varre. Protestant corpses lay thick over the square on the 
morning after St. Bartholomew, but they were not the only 
victims of the fanaticism of the infamous queen and court. 
In order to give a slight show of legality to the terrible butch- 
eries of that August night, many Huguenots were tried and 
condemned by the obsequious Parliament, and executed on 
the Oreve. Two of the best and noblest of the Huguenot 
party, Briquemont and Cavagnes, were dragged here upon a 
hurdle, and executed as felons, for the sole crime of being 
Protestants. Catharine de Medicis and the young King had 
been feasting in the town-hall, but they hastened from the 
merry board to the window to gloat over the sufferings of 
these brave men. On the hurdle between the two unfortun- 
ate gentlemen, was an effigy of Admiral Coligni, who had 
been sentenced for contumacy two months after his assassina- 
tion. Fifteen months later came the turn of the assassins, 
and La Mole and Coconnas, who had been especially active 
in carrying on the massacre, suffered here for high treason. 
On the 17th of December, 1591, the President Brisson, and 
the Counsellors Tardif and Larcher, who had been strangled 
in one of the cells of the Grand Chatelet, were hanged on 
hooks in front of the town-hall. On the 7th of January, 
1596^ the Jesuit Guignard, accused of complicity in an at- 
tempt to assassinate Henry IV., was executed here, protesting 
his innocence to the last. On the 27th of May, 1610, Eavail- 
lac, the assassin of Henry IV., was put to death here with 
frightful tortures in the presence of an immense crowd which 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 183 

thronged the squa,re and lined the neighboring housetops. He 
was torn with pincers, burned with hot lead, maimed in a 
fearful manner, and dragged assunder by horses. Seven 
years later occurred the first of the sanguinary dramas of the 
reign of Louis the Just (XIII.), when Leonora Galigai, the 
first friend of Kichelieu, was beheaded for sorcery. On the 
22d of June, 1627, tlie Lord of Boutteville, a Montmorency, 
was beheaded here by order of the grim old Cardinal, for 
fighting a duel in defiance of the law. On the 10th of May, 
1632, the noble and brave Marshal de Marillac, brother of 
the Keeper of the Privy Seal, was executed here by order of 
the Cardinal, after a mock trial in which nothing was charged 
or proved against him. On the 16th of July, 1676, the 
Marchioness de Brinvilliers was burned here, for her crimes, in 
the presence of a large crowd of her former friends, who came 
to see " how a marchioness would burn." Under the Eegency 
there were no political executions in the Place de Greve. 
Cartouche, the robber, was broken alive here in 1721, and on 
the 26th of March, 1757, Damiens, who had been convicted 
of an attempt to assassinate Louis XV., was put to death 
with the most horrible tortures. A butcher of the city 
offered to flay him alive, but the authorities declined the 
proposition. The manner of his death is thus described in 
an old French work before me : 

" The tortures began about three o'clock. The right hand 
of tbe victim which had held the knife with which he had 
struck at Louis XV. was slowly burned. The intensity of 
the pain drew from him a cry of agonj^, and the executioner, 
approaching him, demanded of him the names of his accom- 
plices. He declared that he had none. At the same instant, 
the breast, arms, and legs of the condemned were torn with 
pincers, and upon the wounds thus made was poured melted 
lead, boiling oil, burning pitch, melted wax and burning sul- 



184 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

pTiur, all at the same moment, and the whole place resounded 
with his cries : ' Mj God, my God !' he screamed ; ' it is fright- 
ful ! Oh Christ, my God, have pity on me ! Oh Saviour, how 
I suffer ! Oh give me patience !' At each fresh tearing he 
cried out piteously ; but his cries ceased when the tortures 
were finished, and he remained gazing silently at his wounds, 
as he had done at the hand which had been consumed. 
Finally, the executioners proceeded to bind his arms, legs 
and thighs with thongs, previous to his being torn asunder. 
This consumed much time, and gave him great pain. The 
cords were bound tightly across the wounds so recently made, 
and this drew from him repeated cries of pain, but it did not 
prevent him from regarding his sufferings with a singular 
curiosity. The horses being attached to his limbs, the signal 
was given to urge them to their horrid work, and several 
efforts were made to tear his limbs apart. He screamed 
frightfully, the extension of his limbs was incredible, but 
there was no sign of dismemberment. In spite of the repeated 
efforts of the horses, which were young and vigorous, this 
last part of the torture was protracted for more than an hour, 
and still there was no token of the end. The physicians and 
surgeons now assured the Commissaries that it would be im- 
possible to perform the dismemberment without facilitating 
the action of the horses by cutting the principal sinews, which, 
though they bad been stretched to an enormous length, would 
not separate without an amputation. Upon this assurance, 
the Commissaries ordered the executioner to cut the princi- 
pal sinews of the arms and thighs, inasmuch as the night was 
approaching, and it was deemed best to finish the tortures 
before dark. In compliance with this order, the sinews of 
the victim's legs and arms were cut in two by the executioner, 
and tlie horses again urged forward. After i-epeated efforts, 
an arm and a thigh were torn oft'. The poor wretch was still 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 185 

conscious, aud his screams of pain were terrible. He even 
preserved his consciousness until both his legs and one arm 
were torn from his body, and died onlj after the remaining 
arm was dragged off," 

This horrible spectacle was witnessed by all classes. Even 
women of rank were present, and, says the work from which 
I have quoted the above description, " that night the noble 
courtesans related to each other with complaisance, in the 
halls of Versailles, all the details of this long torture," 

Here, also, in 1766, Lally Tolleudal, the brave antagonist 
of the English in India, was put to death, with a gag in his 
mouth. After him came Foulon and Berthier, who were 
hanged at the lamp-posts, and the Marquis de Favras, the 
friend and confidant of the Comte d' Artois, who was hanged 
by order of the Ohatelet Court, and who died protesting his 
innocence. 

These were the most noted who died here, but who shall tell 
how many lesser victims suffered in the Place de Gr^ve? The 
children* of St. Louis had run up a frightful debt with St. 
Antoine, and the reckoning was close at hand. 

On the 25th of April, 1792, a strange instrument of death 
appeared in the Place for the execution of a robber. It loas 
the Guillotine. In 1793 it was removed to another part of the 
city, and not many-victims of the Eevolution died here. It 
came back in 1795, however, and remained here until 1830. 
Since then, no e^jecutions have taken place here. 

In 1830 and in 1848 the square was the scene of heavy 
fighting between the troops and the people. 

And now, looking over what I have written, I find that I 
have not named all of the famous victims who suffered here, 
for I have said nothing of Oliver de Clisson, nor of Pierre 
des Essarts, nor of Jean des M^res, nor of the Count of Ar- 
magnac, nor of the Chevalier d'Andrieux. I could not hope 



186 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

to give the names of the humbler sufferers, and perhaps, 
after all, the subject would not interest the reader as it does 
me. 

They have done well to change the old square, for it is 
best to forget the scenes it has witnessed. Yet, changed as 
it is, I have never passed it without shuddering. 1 do not 
see the bright, beautiful square, but my mental vision takes 
in every detail of the old place of torture, and I hear only 
the shrieks and groans of the victims. It is a haunted spot 
to me. 




188 



XIII. 
THE CITE. 

I AM antiquarian enough in ray tastes to fancy old Paris 
better than the new city; and I am sure I derived far more 
pleasure from my walks in the old Cite, than from my 
promenades along the Boulevards. 

Crossing at the Pont Neuf, one finds himself on the nar- 
rov/ point which marks the lower end of the ancient Lutetia, 
the cradle of the great city around him. Here is the Statue 
of Henry IV., and just facing it is the entrance to the Place 
Dauphine, a spacious triangle, surrounded by old and high 
houses in the style of two centuries ago. It is one of the 
last vestiges of the Paris of Henry IV. and Louis XIII., and 
even this will soon give way to the improvements designed 
for the island. In the centre of the square is a monument 
to Desaix, representing France crowning the bust of her 
hero with a wreath of laurel. 

Just beyond is the Palais de Justice, with the Prefecture 
of Police attached to it, occupying the island from shore to 
shore. In front of it is the Boulevard du Palais, connected 
with the north shore by the Pont au Change, and with the 
south shore by the Pont Saint Michel. Opposite the palace 
are the new buildings for the Courts of the City and a huge 
barracks for the troops, and back of these are the flower- 
market of the island and the ancient Biie de la Cite. Here 
the Pont Notre Dame crosses to the north bank and the Petit 
Pont to the south. The Hijtel Dieii occupies the island now 

189 



190 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

as far back as the front of tlie Cathedral, but between the 
church and the river, on the north side, is a dense mass of 
old houses — a fair specimen of what the island was before 
the present Emperor swept away the historic localities to 
make room for the new buildings you see all around you. 
Beyond these houses is the old Cathedral of Notre Dame de 
Paris — that grand poem in stone, which alone would repay 
you for crossing the ocean. The open space back of it, now 
railed in and planted as a park, is the Place Notre Pame, in 
the midst of which stands a beautiful gothic fountain. The 
Pue d'Arcole crosses the square in front of the church, and 
communicates with the north shore by the Pont d'Arcole^ 
and with the south by the Pont Double. The Archbishop's 
Bridge (Pont de VArchevlche) stands just back of the Place 
Notre Dame^ and joins the island to the south shore, while 
just across the quay is the Pont St. Louis., connecting the Gite 
with the lie St. Louis. The low building between the two 
bridges is the Morgue. 

Stand with me near the centre of the Quai du Marche Neuf, 
and turn your face to the north. Before you is the splendid 
barrack but recently constructed, and behind you the Seine. 
On your left is the Palace of Justice, and around the corner 
of the barracks you can see the clock-tower and the Po7it 
au Change. On your right is the time-worn JIdtel Dieu, and 
beyond it are the gray towers of Notre Dame. Shut out the 
new barrack from your view, and you are face to face with 
seven centuries. Before the new buildings, which have so 
changed the island, were erected, the old Cite was a mass of 
crooked streets and lofty houses. It was dark, dismal, and 
unhealthy. It had all the wrinkles and evils of old age, 
with none of its calm repose, for it was not a pleasant place 
to the eye; and, though justice had her chosen seat so close 
at hand, these old streets were not safe. Only the lovers of 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 191 

the antique regret them, and the most inveterate enemy of 
the present dynasty in his heart thanks the Emperor for the 
change. 

This island was a famous place in its day. Indeed, until 
the Thirteenth Century, it was Paris, the districts on the 
neighboring shores being until then of but little importance. 
Here were Notre Dame and the Palais, (then the residence 
of royalty,) the two metropolises of Church and State ; and 
here concentrated all the prominent events in the history of 
the city. This was the ancient Lutetia which had held out 
so bravely against its Eoman conquerors, and which the 
Roman Emperors — monarchs of the world — made their 
favorite place of resort. It was this little island that was 
made by Clovis the capital of his empire, only, however, 
to be left by his successors to languish into the domain 
of a simple count. Yet Eobert of Paris was worthy of 
a wider sway. He taught the Norman pirates man}- a 
severe lesson, and saved his little island from ruin. It 
was this cite that Philip Augustus was so proud of, and 
which he sought to ornament with the grand old church 
which still preserves his memory. Here Saint Louis 
brought the treasures of the Holy City ; and here he 
built the beautiful chapel in which his heart was placed 
when it had ceased to beat. And here, six centuries later, 
the crown of Charlemagne was placed upon the brows of 
Napoleon. How many memories, how many mighty deeds 
cluster about this old island! It witnessed the pride and 
glory of the children of St. Louis, and their deepest abase- 
ment ; for, if Notre Dame and the Palais are here, here, 
also, are the chamber of the Tribunal Revolutionnaire and the 
Conciergerie. 

Would you know how the island appeared in the Fifteenth 
Conturv, ten vcnrs before Columbus set sail to seek a new 



192 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

world in the West ? I turn to tbe great picture of Paris lying 
by me, and take from it the Island of Louis XI : 

"There lies before one a countless collection of old roofs, 
over which is upreared the leaden apsis of Holy Chapel, like 
an elephant's back loaded with its tower. This tower is the 
boldest, most open, filagree-worked spire, that ever let the 
sunlight stream through its lacework. Before Notre Dame, 
nearer, three streets disgorge into the square in front of a 
church, a pretty square of old mansions. On the southern 
side of the square leans over the wrinkled, punctured front 
of the hospital, with the roof apparently broken out in pus- 
tules and warts. To right and left, to east and west, within 
the so narrow compass of the city, rise the steeples of its one 
and twenty churches of all dates, forms and grandeur, from 
the low, moss-grown Eoman belfry of Saint Denis du Pas 
{career glaucina), to the fine needles of Saint Pierre aux 
Boeufs and Saint Landry. Behind Notre Dame, to tbe north- 
ward, is its cloister with Gothic galleries ; to the south, the 
half Eoman Bishop's Palace ; to the eastward, the deserted 
point of the Terrain. In this pile of houses the eye may 
descry, by those lofty stone mitres which then overgrew the 
roof to the very highest windows of the palace, the hall given 
by the city, under Charles the Sixth, to Juvenal des Ursins: 
a little farther on, the pitched booths of Palus Market ; be- 
sides the new vault of Saint Germain leVieux, lengthened in 
1458, to the Febves ; and, at places, a square crowded with 
people ; a pillory standing at a street corner ; a fine bit of 
the payment of Philip Augustus, a magnificent grooved flag- 
ging for horses' hoofs in the middle of the road, and so 
wretchedly replaced in the Sixteenth Century by the paltry 
cobble-stones, called ' pave of the League,' a deserted rear- 
yard, with one of those stair-cased turrets like those made in 
the Fifteenth Century, slill to be seen in a street of the Bour- 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 193 

donnais. Lastly, to tbe right hand of the Holy Chapel, west- 
erly, the Palace of Justice overshadows the water with its 
group of towers. The hedges of the royal gardens, which 
cover the western point of the city, hide the Ilet da Passeur. 
From Notre Dame towers, water can only be seen at each 
side of the city. The Seine disappears under bridges, the 
bridges under houses." * 

The centuries that have passed by since then have worked 
great changes. The one and twenty churches have disap- 
peared, and only Notre Dame and the Holy Chapel point the 
way to Heaven. Around the Palace of Justice now cluster 
the Courts of the city, for the island is the legal quarter of 
modern Paris. Judges, clerks, and advocates are in abund- 
ance here, thicker even than the priests at the upper end. 

The lie St. Louis, though so near a neighbor to the old 
Cite, was not built upon until the reign of Louis XIII. It 
is laid off with tolerable regularity, though the streets are 
narrow, and many of them dirty. The only attractions it 
possesses are the Church of Saint Louis En-Ile (St. Louis in 
the Island) and the H6tel Lambert, both dating from the 
Seventeenth Century. The former contains some good pic- 
tures, and the latter is one of the finest specimens of a 
mansion of the time of Louis XIY., and was once the resi- 
dence of Voltaire. 

* Notre Dame de Paris. 
13 



XIV. 
THE PALAIS ROTAl. 

Caedinal Eichelieu did some wise things in his day, and 
one of the wisest was his purchase, in 1624, of the Hotels 
Mercoeur and Eambouillet, in order that he might pull them 
down and occupy their site with a magnificent palace, which 
should bear his name, and remain a monument of his glory. 
He began the work in 1629, and completed it in 1634. The 
Palais Cardinal^ the result of his efforts, was the admiration 
of all Paris. True, a part of the old wall of Charles V., and 
another historic landmark were swept away to make room for 
the new edifice, but the splendor of the Cardinal's mansion 
more than atoned for this loss. 

The external splendor of the edifice, however, was not all 
that excited the admiration of the Parisians. The interior was 
in keeping with it, and came in for its share of praise also. 
Suites of splendid chambers and halls received the guests 
whom the great Minister deigned to honor, and the private 
theatre of the palace was the talk of the town. But that 
which aroused the warmest admiration, was the " Gallery of 
Great Men," in which his Eminence had collected the por- 
traits of the men of all ages to whom he accorded the title 
of " Great." His standard must have been high, for the hall 
contained but twenty-five portraits. The twenty-fourth place 
in this famous group, was, by a refinement of courtesy, given 
to his Majesty, King Louis XIII., and the twenty -fifOi was 
104 




195 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 197 

occupied hy no less a personage than Cardinal Richelieu. Both 
theatre and gallery have disappeared. 

Eichelieu did not long enjoy his famous house. He died 
here on the 4th of December, 1642, and bequeathed the palace 
to the King, upon the express condition that the crown should 
never part with it. Louis XIII. followed the Cardinal five 
months later, and on the 7th of October, Anne of Austria, 
the widowed Queen, took possession of the Palais Cardinal. 
She brought with her, her infant children, Louis XIV., then 
but five years old, and his younger brother, Philippe of 
Orleans. The little King occupied the old Cardinal's chamber, 
and the splendid " gallery of great men " was converted into 
a sleeping room for his brother, and so entirely changed that 
his Eminence himself would never have recognized it. Nor 
was this the only change, for, in spite of the remonstrances 
of the relatives of the Cardinal, the mansion was officially 
styled the Palais Royal. 

The first outbreak in the struggle of the Fronds took place 
almost in front of the palace, and the events of the war caused 
the young King to quit the city, in 1652, This closed the 
career of the mansion as a royal residence, for, after the King's 
return to Paris, he did not again enter the Palais Eoyal, 
which was subsequently assigned to Henrietta Maria, the 
widow of Charles I. of England, as a residence, after she was 
obliged to quit the Louvre. 

In 1672, Louis XIV., in violation of the condition upon 
which the crown had accepted the palace, gave it to his 
brother, Philippe L, Duke of Orleans, and to his heirs. This 
Duke married Henrietta, of England, the daughter of Charles 
I., who had already passed a part of her childhood in the 
Palais Royal. From Philippe I., the palace passed to his son, 
who was Eegent during the minority of Louis XV. He it 
was who made the place infamous by the strange debauch- 



198 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

eries whicli he inaugurated here, and which Saint Simon has 
described in his Memoires. His son Louis lived in great re- 
tirement, and finally entered the Abbey of Sainte-Genevi^ve, 
where he ended his days, and left the mansion to his little 
son, Louis Philippe Joseph, better known in after years as 
Philippe Egalite. During the ownership of the last yarned 
duke, the greater part of the original palace was destroyed 
by a fire, kindled by an incendiary. He rebuilt the burnt 
portion, and in order to meet the heavy expenses which his 
prodigality entailed upon him, surrounded the gardens with 
immense ranges of buildings, which he leased at fabulous 
rents to gamblers, and dealers in fancy goods. These build- 
ings were completed between the years 1781 — 1786, and 
aroused the bitter wrath of the people of the neighboring 
streets, who grumbled terribly at having the gardens, which 
had always been open to them, enclosed, and launched the 
most sarcastic epigrams at the Duke, who laughed at them, 
and carried out his plan. While the works were in progress, 
the Opera House was burned (June 8th, 1781), and the Duke 
added to his palace the Theatre Franqais of to-day. 

The gardens, as they now stand, formed one of the favorite 
places of resort for all classes during the last days of the 
monarchy. Politicians of all shades of opinion came here to 
discuss and announce their views, and here were held many 
of the meetings which heralded the great storm. Here it 
was that Camille Desmoiilins uttered the call to arms which 
resulted in the capture and destruction of the Bastille. 

Philippe Equality paid a dear price for his liberal princi- 
ples. Arrested, with his third son, the Count of Beaujolais, 
on the 4th of April, 1793, he was executed on the 6th of the 
following November. As they led him to his doom, they 
carried him by tlie gates of his palace, and, with a refinemeni 
of cruelty, halted the tumbril in front of the principal en- 



PARIS BT SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 199 

trance, that he might gaze upon the scene of his former glory. 
The Palais Eoyal was seized by his creditors immediately 
after his arrest, and was sold by them. It was at once filled 
with restaurants, gaming-houses, and shops, and took the 
name of Palais Eyalite. The first Consul removed them 
from the palace proper, and established the Trihunat in it, 
which sat there from 1801 until 1807. During this time it 
was called the Palace of the Tribunat, and after that body left 
it, it remained deserted until 1814. Lucien Bonaparte occu- 
pied it during the Hundred Days, but after the downfall of 
Napoleon, it was restored to the Duke of Orleans, who repur- 
chased all that had been sold by the State. He continued to 
reside here until his elevation to the throne of France as 
Louis Philippe I., in 1830. On the 28th of February, 1848, 
it was sacked by the mob, who destroyed the greater part of 
its works of art, and seriously damaged the building. Under 
the name of Palais National, it was occupied by several de- 
partments of the Government, until the establishment of the 
present Empire, when its old name was restored. In 1852, it 
was given to Prince Jerome, the brother of Napoleon I., and 
was left by him to his son, the Prince Jdrome Napoldon, better 
known in this country as Prince Napoleon, its present owner. 
The palace itself is situated in the Place du Palais Poyal, 
and faces the Pue de Rivoli. The principal entrance is 
through a triple-arched gateway, leading into a large court. 
The buildings on each side of this court advance to the street, 
and are on a line with the gateway, and the building at the 
bottom of the court is ornamented with Ionic columns sup- 
porting a semi-circular pediment, in the centre of which is a 
handsome clock supported by two figures. The entire front 
is elaborately decorated and presents a showy appearance 
from the street. The interior of the palace doea not corres- 



200 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

pond with its exterior. It contains some fine halls, never- 
theless, and the grand stairway is famous as a work of art. 
It is now occupied by Prince Napoleon and his family, and 
is not open to visitors. 

The court-yard behind the palace is surrounded by shops, 
and is separated from the gardens beyond by a magnificent 
glass gallery, called the Gallerie d^OrUans. It is the most 
magnificent of all the covered streets or passages of Paris, 
and is lined with handsome shops. 

Beyond this gallery are the gardens of the palace, sur- 
rounded on all sides by magnificent arcades. The grounds 
are two hundred and thirty yards long by one hundred yards 
wide, and are ornamented with shrubbery, statuary, and 
fountains. They constitute one of the favorite places of re- 
sort for the Parisians, and are daily filled, from six to eleven 
o'clock, with thousands in search of pleasure. In mild 
weather there is music by a military band, which performs 
here for an hour or two before sunset, and until near mid- 
night the crowds linger in the gardens enjoying the deli- 
cacies of the Cafe de la Roionde. 

The galleries surrounding the grounds afford one of the 
most brilliant and interesting sights of the city. They are 
lined with caf^s, and scores of small shops, devoted to the 
sale of jewelry, both real and imitation, fancy goods of all 
kinds, cutlery, military goods, books, curiosities, etc., etc. 
The display in the windows of these establishments is bril- 
liant beyond description. The whole square constitutes a 
vast bazaar cut up into a hundred or more booths of various 
sizes. Jewels of every kind, from the gleaming diamond to 
the more humble stones, flash in the windows and dazzle 
your eyes with their brilliancy. Watches of all sizes, 
shapes, and qualities, vie with the precious stones. Hera 



^^ 




PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 201 

are riches piled up in the greatest and most gorgeous pro- 
fusion. Here are 

"Priceless chaplets of Syrian jet, 

And odorous amber steeped in the sun, 
' Eare golden circlets, turquoise set, 
A dowry every one. 

" Blood-red rubies, pearls like grapes, 
In clusters of purple, black, and white ; 

Cameo girdles for exquisite shapes, 
Diamond drops of light. 

"Jeweled masks, and filagree fans. 

In carved cases of tropical wood ; 
Aspic braces, ouches, and bands, 

Clasps for mantle and hood." 

Try it yourself, good reader, and you will find it impos- 
sible to describe the wonderful scene. Come here just after 
dusk, when the shop windows throw their floods of light out 
into the gardens, and the grounds and galleries are alive 
with people. See how they crowd around the rich displays 
in the windows. The very air vibrates with the thousand 
voices floating upon it. Here are diamonds that might ran- 
som a prince, and on the ledge just above them sets of the 
same stone of a less fabulous value. Here are watches of 
the most exquisite make for fifty francs, and silver time- 
pieces for half that sum. Here are sets of jewelry and pre- 
cious stones that make you long to be their owner. Yes, 
they are beautiful and in perfect taste, but you need not be 
so very rich to possess them. I point you to the little sign 
over the door, which tells you that all the articles sold in 
this shop are imitations. It may be that this announcement 
will destroy your wish to possess them; but you will be 



202 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

very different from the majority of your countrymen and 
countrywomen if you leave Paris without loading your 
trunks with this pretty rubbish. Here you may buy a 
brooch for a couple of francs — an imitation, truly, but one 
that you will not be ashamed to wear. The Parisians are 
very fond of this class of ornaments, and thousands of francs 
are annually expended for them. 

A stranger, seeing these galleries for the first time, won- 
ders how it is possible for so many persons of the same trade 
to earn their living here. Half a dozen jewelers will dis- 
play their wares side by side, and all will do w^ell, for the 
shops of the Palais Eoyal are amongst the most profitable 
in the city. Thousands of people come here every night, 
attracted by the beauty and brilliancy of the scene, and 
thousands of francs change hands before the evening is 
over. 

The gardens and galleries, however, do not constitute the 
only attractions of the place. The floor above the shops is 
taken up with numerous restaurants, some of which are 
among the most famous in Paris. They are crowded morn- 
ing and evening with persons in quest of their meals. These 
establishments having been already described, I pass them by. 

The Theatre Franqais and the Theatre du Palais Royal are 
situated within the limits of the palace, and furnish another 
source of interest and amusement. 



XV. 

THE SCHOOLS. 
I 

THE LATIN" QUAETER. 

The terms Quartier Latin and Pays Latin will not be found 
in any of the official publications of Paris, yet they are famous 
the world over as the name of a large section of the city lying 
south of the Seine and containing the principal schools. This 
section may be said to cover the area lying between the Seine, 
on the north, the Boulevard du Montparnasse, on the south, 
the Halle aux Yins, on the east, and the Eue Bonaparte on 
the west. Within these boundaries are the School of Fine 
Arts, the Institute, the Mint, the Churches of St. Germain des- 
Pres and Saint Sulpice, the Charity Hospital, the Palaces of 
the Luxembourg and the Senate, the Hotel de Cluny, the 
Churches of Saint Severin, Saint Julien-le-Pauvre, and Saint 
Etienne-du-Mont, the Medical School, the Lycees Saint Louis, 
Napoleon, and Louis-le-Grand, the Sorbonne, the College of 
France, the Institution-Sainte-Barbe, the Sainte-Cenevi^ve 
and Mazarin Libraries, the Law School, the Panthdon, the 
Hospital of La Pitie, the Garden of Plants, and the Normal 
and Polytechnic Schools. Not only is it made famous by 
these great institutions, but it is also, and perhaps still better 
known as the quarter in which dwell that numerous class of 

men, young and old, who call themselves students. 

203 



204 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Paris was quick to assert its intellectual supremacy. In 
the year 900, Eemigius of Auxerre commenced to read 
lectures here, and the beginning thus made was continued 
successfully during the next two centuries by a line of mas- 
ters whose names, in many instances, are unknown to-day. 
About 1100, William of Champeaux, and Peter Ab^lard drew 
pupils from all parts of the civilized world to hear them, and 
by 1169 a regular University, with faculties of arts, theology, 
law, and medicine, was in successful operation. In 1199- this 
University received its first charter from Philip Augustus. 

About this time the schools of Paris were at the height of 
their early glory. The slopes of the Mountain of Sainte-Ge- 
nevieve were covered with colleges and schools of various 
grades, and settled thickly with students. From the College 
des Bernardins back to Mont Parnasse, the streets were lined 
with these establishments, many of which are now extinct. 
By the year 1453, the University of Paris was the most famous 
in Europe, and numbered 12,000 students in its schools. 
The crown granted it rare powers over the Pays Latin^ and 
it had exclusive jurisdiction in all suits, civil or criminal, in 
which its members were concerned. The municipal authori- 
ties regarded it with bitter jealousy in consequence of this, 
and many disputes occurred between the two bodies. Its 
quarrels were not with the municipality alone, however, but 
it " picked many a bone" with the neighboring religious es- 
tablishments. There was a piece of ground just without the 
walls of the Abbey of Saint- Germain-des-Pres, called the Pre 
aux Glercs. The University and the Abbey each claimed it, 
and during the Thirteenth Century were engaged in a warm 
dispute concerning it. Both managed to neglect it sadly, 
however, and like all debatable ground, it became famous 
for its lawlessness, crime, and adventures. It was also the 
scene of many duels. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 205 

" There is no quarter that has been so little changed by the 
recent works which have transformed Paris," says Theodore 
de Banville ; " none which has kept so well its own physiog- 
nomy ; for it possesses a moral vitality, an intellect, some- 
thing approaching a soul, against which neither hammers nor 
pickaxes can prevail. The great Boulevards, so resembling 
those of Central Paris, with their wide pavements, their green 
trees, their houses of carved stone, their grand depots of com- 
merce, and their shops filled with luxury and beauty, have 
been created — one might almost say brought here — by magic. 
Their crowds, their tumult, their busy and eager aspect, might 
induce one to think himself in the heart of the city ; but two 
paces away from them silence and study still reign, for this 
new Paris which sweeps by here like a river, has not changed 
the old Paris which borders its shores. By the side of the bust- 
ling and lively Boulevard-Saint-Michel, the grass is growing 
between the flagstones in the Court of the Sorbonne." 

Coming here, fresh from the splendid streets north of the 
river, one can hardly realize that he is in the same city. The 
streets are narrow, and the houses tall and ancient looking. 
The sound of carriage wheels rarely breaks the stillness which 
reigns over the whole quarter, and the streets are less crowded 
than over the Seine. The people are plainer, quieter, and 
more " old tiraey," than in the districts you have just left. 
Classic notions prevail in everything, and you are not long in 
discovering that it is not a fashionable quarter. 

The houses are in many instances handsome, but all are in- 
ferior to those of new Paris. You may find lodgings here for 
a " mere song." For fifty francs per month you can secure 
plain but really comfortable apartments in a pleasant street, 
or you may live at a still cheaper rate without sacrificing 
either your respectability or your comfort ; but you must not 
wonder if the concierge is a little particular about the security 



206 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

for the rent. The majority of tenants in this quarter are not 
the most punctual in their payments. 

It is here that one sees the book-stands which are so famous 
a feature of Paris. There are scores of dealers in such wares 
here. Some spread out their slender stock upon a neighbor- 
ing ledge, or upon the stones which form the river wall, others 
provide themselves with tables and stands, and others still 
make a better display in stalls fitted up with shelves and doors. 
And a curious collection of books these dealers have managed 
to bring together. Histories, novels, biographies, essays, 
travels, books of law, medicine, theology, and the other 
sciences, dating back almost to the invention of printing, find 
their way here. The prices are low, and the sales not the 
most encouraging to the majority of dealers. Even the new 
publications can be bought here for very much less than 
across the river. After the first demand for a book is over, 
it may always be purchased far below its original cost, at the 
book-stalls of the Latin Quarter. Many persons wait for this, 
and thus save money on their purchases. 

Several of the great publishers are located here. Chief 
amongst them is the splendid establishment of Hachette & Co., 
on the Boulevard Saint Germain — one of the most perfect 
and beautiful, if not the best, of its kind in the world. 



II. 

THE SCHOOLS. 

At the head of the learned bodies of the city, stands the 
Institute of France, for which a magnificent palace is provided 
just opposite the Louvre, and almost on the spot where the 
famous Tour de Nesle stood. This building owes its origin 
to Cardinal Mazarin, who, by his will, directed that a college 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 207 

for sixty gentlemen should be established here, to be called 
College des Quatre Nations, as its inmates were to be chosen 
from four countries only, Alsace, Flanders, Pignerol, and 
Eousillon. During the Eevolution the building was con 
verted into a prison, and used as such for some time. 

In 1795, the National Convention established the Insiiiuie, 
in place of the college founded by Mazarin, which it had sup- 
pressed in 1793. It was at first organized into three classes 
— one of mathematics and the physical sciences ; one of moral 




Palace of the Institiite of France. 

and political sciences ; and one of literature and the fine arts 
— but the First Consul, in 1803, suppressed the class of moral 
^d political science, and subdivided the class of literature 
and the fine arts into three other classes — one of the French 
language and literature, one of history and ancient literature, 
and one of fine arts. Louis XVIII., in 1816, substituted the 
title of Academy for that of class, and restored the ancient 
order of the subjects. Louis Philippe, in 1832, revived the 
class of moral and political science, and definitively fixed the 



208 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

number of Academies at five : I. The French Academy, 
{Academie Franqaise) ; II, The Academy of Inscriptions and 
Belles-Lettres ; III. The Academy of Sciences ; lY. The 
Academy of Fine Arts ; V. The Academy of Moral and 
Political Sciences. Each of these Academies conducts its 
aftairs by its own regulations, but all are subject to the gen- 
eral administration of the Institute, in matters in which their 
interest is common. 

The object of the Institute is the perfecting of literature, 
science, and art, by making researches, publishing books, 
and giving rewards. It is composed of titular and free 
members, of corresponding members, and of foreign associates. 
They are all elected by the particular Academy to which 
they belong, a majority of votes being necessary to a choice. 
The choice of Academicians, of Perpetual Secretaries, and 
of some other dignitaries must be confirmed by the Head of 
the State. 

Admission to the public sittings of the Institute, which are 
held annually, on the 15th of August, is by tickets. Upon 
this occasion, the linguistic prize of Yolney, and the Em- 
peror's biennial prize of 20,000 francs, are awarded to the 
work which the Institute considers the most honorable or 
most useful to the country. 

The French Academy was founded in 1635, by Eichelieu, 
and consists at present of 40 titular members. It has no free 
academicians, or corresponding members. Its officers are a 
chancellor, a director, and a secretary, elected from amongst 
the members, for three months, and a perpetual treasurer. 
Its duties are to make the revision of the Dictionary of the 
French Language^ and to compile an Historical Dictionary of 
the French Language. It holds an annual public sitting in 
May or June. Upon this occasion it bestows many prizes, 
the most valued being the Academy prize of 2,000 francs for 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 209 

the best essay, in prose or poetry, on a given subject. Prizes, 
ranging from 3,000 to 22,000 francs, are awarded to poor 
French persons, who have done the most praiseworthy action 
daring the year; to the French author who has composed 
and published the most useful book on morals during the 
year ; to the author of the best work on the history of France ; 
to the author of the best historical work, in a moral point of 
view ; to the author of an historical work proposed by the 
Academy: and also prizes in favor of poor artists and men of 
letters, and of young men who have shown literary talent. 

Tlie Academy of Liscnpiionis and Belles- Lettres was founded 
in 1665 by Colbert, and comprises forty titular members, 
ten free members, eight foreign associates, and fifty corres- 
pondents. It chooses its own ofl&cers, which are a President, 
Vice-President, and Perpetual Secretary. 

It is designed to promote and carry on studies of medals, 
inscriptions, monuments, antiquities, ancient languages, idioms 
of the Mediaeval Ages, and Oriental languages. It sits 
weekly for the transaction of business, and holds an annual 
public meeting in July, for the distribution of prizes. It 
publishes the Memoirs of the Academy of Inscriptions and 
Belles- Lettres. 

The Academy of Sciences was founded by Colbert in 1666. 
It consists of sixty-five titular membfirs, ten free acade- 
micians, and eight foreign associates. It holds weekly meet 
ings, and distributes its prizes in public in November of 
each year. These prizes are given for treatises on the ex 
act sciences, and for the best discussions of the treatment of 
Asiatic Cholera. It publishes the Memoirs of the Academy of 
Suences^ and a weekly account of the sittings. 

The Acadtmy of Fine Arts was formed by the union of the 
Academies of Painting, Sculpture, Music, and Architecture. 
It consists of forty titular members, ten free members, ten 
14 



210 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

foreign associates, and forty correspondents. Its officers are 
a President, Vice-President, and Perpetual Secretary. It 
publishes the Dictionary of the Language of Fine Arts. It 
holds weekly sittings, and makes an annual public distribu- 
tion of prizes in October. The prizes are given to the most 
successful contestants in painting, sculpture, architecture, en- 
graving, historical landscapes, and musical compositions. 

The Academy of Moral and Political Sciences was suppressed 
in 1803, and reestablished in 1832. It consists of forty 
titular and six free members, nine foreign associates, and 
thirty-seven correspondents. Its ofl&cers are a President, 
Vice-President, and Perpetual Secretary. It publishes its 
Memoirs, holds weekly sittings, and makes annual public 
distributions of prizes for successful treatises upon moral or 
political science. 

A new Academy, that of Medicine, occupies the chapel of 
the ancient Convent of the Brothers of Charity, and is re- 
quired to answer all demands made upon it by the Govern- 
ment, especially those relating to sanitary questions affecting 
the public health. It consists of one hundred titular and 
ten free members, twenty national and twenty foreign asso- 
ciates, and an unlimited number of correspondents. Candi- 
dates for membership must be doctors in medicine or sur- 
gery, or must be graduates of special schools of chemistry 
or veterinary medicine. Its officers are a President, Vice- 
President, Perpetual Secretary, and Annual Secretary and 
Treasurer. Its library is very valuable, but is reserved to 
members ; but its chemical laboratory is open to members 
of commissions wishing to make certain experiments. It 
publishes its Notices and Memoirs, and awards pri.'^es for the 
best works on medical and surgical topics. Its sittings are 
weekly, and its distribution of prizes annual, in public. 

The College of France, situated in the Eues des Ecoles and 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



211 



Saint Jacques, was founded by Francis I., in 1529, It was 
rebuilt in 1610 and 177-i, and a few years ago was entirely 
restored and considerably enlarged. It is provided with 
handsome and commodious buildings, and ranks amongst 
the first establishments of learning in France. It is under 
the control of the Minister of Public Instruction, and has 
twenty-nine professorships. Its professors are chosen from 
amongst the most eminent men in France, and deliver gratu- 
itous lectures on all subjects connected with the higher 



e^-- - 




-OlL\.ACElCl^ 



A.EIHERI11CT0K)S=^ 



'Hie Collf-q-e of Franco. 



branches of literature and science, mathematics, natural 
philosophy, natural history, general law, history, oriental 
languages, etc., etc. The lectures are not confined to the 
students, but are free to all who choose to attend thein, and 
seats are reserved for ladies. The lectures on literature and 
history are especially valuable and interesting. The library 
of the college is not open to the public. 

The University, founded in 1808, has norainall v the monop- 
oly of the public instruction given by the State, or, in other 
words, the control of the primary, secondary, and higher 



212 PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

public schools. It is under the authority of the Minister of 
Public Instruction, who convokes each year an assembly, 
called the " Imperial Council of Public Education," com- 
posed of thirty-two members, nominated by the Emperor. 
The State appoints all the professors of the colleges and 
lyceums of the University, and pays them their salaries. It 
approves and enforces its programme for public instruction, 
a]id, through the Minister in charge of this branch of the 
public service, directs and controls every detail connected 
with the education of the young. The administration of the 
University is located in Paris, but its branches are spread 
all ever France in academies^ each of which is in charge of a 
rector appointed at Paris. 

For many years, a bitter warfare has been waged betAveen 
the Church and the University on the subject of primary 
education, each body seeking to obtain the exclusive control 
of it, and it would seem that, although the forms and tradi- 
tions of the University are preserved, the Church, in reality, 
kas the better of the contest. 

"Before the Revolution of 1848," says an intelligent and 
observant writer,^ " the University certainly occupied a proud 
position, very little different from that in which it was placed 
by Napoleon I. I must here remark, that the word ' Univer- 
sity ' in French changed its signification '\n 1808. Before that 
period it expressed the same thing as in our language ; but 
then it came to mean, not a place of study, supplied with all 
means and appliances, and enjoying certain privileges, but the 
whole of the i^^rsonnel of the ' Corps enseignant.^ The object 
of its founder was to create what might have been called a 
lay church, taking church to moan the corporation which is 
capped by the Pope, and includes all the degrees of ecclesias- 

* Purple Tints of Paris. By Bayle St. John. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 213 

tical hierarchy, but excludes the congregations. It is no 
longer correct, therefore, to say that one has studied at the 
University of Paris, because, by University is meant the 
entire body of teachers, from the very lowest up to the gov- 
erning council. There is no University of Paris, but there is 
the Academy of Paris. 

" The original constitution of the University was very 
imposing. Its head was the Grand Master, raised at the 
Eestoration, also to the position of Minister of Public Instruc- 
tion. Then came the Council, composed of eight members, 
with high salaries, appointed for life, and invested with judi- 
cial sanctity. By them everything connected with education 
was directed and governed. No person could undertake to 
teach even the arts of reading and writing without their 
consent ; whilst, on the other hand, no professor could be 
deprived of his position and privileges but by their decree. 
The University was eminently an independent, self-governing 
body. The manifest object of its founder was to create an 
institution which, by its influence, should counterbalance the 
Cathohc Church. To enable it to undertake this task with 
any chance of success, it was necessary to create an es'prit dt 
corps. The object was completely gained ; and, as I have 
already hinted, the University, composed of the very mate- 
rials which had exercised such a dissolving power in the pre- 
vious century, became at once a great instrument of conserva- 
tism ; as far at least as it is possible for the votaries of science 
and letters, which are by their nature progressive, to be so. 

" This state of things has now, since the coup tV ekif, com- 
pletely changed. The supreme direction of the University 
has been transferred to the hands of the Minister of Public 
Instruction ; or, in other words, to those of the Chief of the 
State himself. The Council continues to exist in name ; but 
its members are unpaid and removable at pleasure. In order 



214 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

to show that its duties are merely a sham, the members chosen 
are for the most part people who have never paid any atten- 
tion to the subject of education ; or bishops, to combat whose 
iirfluence the University was originally established. One of 
the principal personages is a jolly officer of dragoons ; another 
is a late apothecary and episodical minister ; a third, a bilious 
astronomer, and so on. I shall mention an instance of the 
way in which discussions are carried on. Some proposition 
was made ; a member, forgetting that he was there only jpro 
formd^ lightly said that the said proposition was against com- 
mon sense; upon which M. Fortoul, the minister, gravely 
observed that he declined discussing the matter, because the 
opinion impugned was not his, but had a much more august 
origin. It may easily be ipiagined that every one cried out 
against the unlucky critic, protesting that the proposition was 
the sublime of common sense. 

" Formerly all professors were chosen by the Council, and 
were obliged to prove that they had passed certain examina- 
tions ;' now the minister takes them where he finds them, and 
]nakes no inquiry, except to ascertain the extent of theii- devo- 
tion to the Imperial Government. Many piquant anecdotes 
have been related to me in illustration ; but I refrain from 
repeating them, because it would be unnecessary to give pain 
to individuals. No doubt the pain in most cases would be 
merited, but I cannot volunteer to perform the office of an 
executioner. 

"Next in rank to the members of the Grand Council were 
tlie Inspectors-General, whose duty was to visit the establish- 
ments of public instruction — all educational establishments, 
indeed — and discover in what spirit they were carried on. 
Their principal vigilance was directed to find out whether the 
Jesuits or other advocates of the old regime had contrived in 
;inv manner to get children under their care, and whether they 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 215 

were teaching them corrupt views of history and theology. 
A few questions made to the pupils would easily enable them 
to discover under what influences were the minds of the chil- 
dren : whether, for example, they were taught that the Saint 
Bartholomew was a glorious day; whether Napoleon was 
represented as on]j the Lieutenant- General of the kingdom 
of France ; whether Henri Cinq was insinuated to be the real 
sovereign, etc., etc. Under the new system, the number of 
the general inspectors has been diminished to four. The 
object is as much as possible to retain the nomenclature of 
the old University, and thus not draw attention to the fact 
that it is utterly destroyed. At the same time the of&ce of 
these inspectors has become supei'fluous, because the Govern- 
ment has determined no longer to oppose the efforts of the 
clergy to give a false direction to study. It has at length dis- 
covered that the Church only can prepare the minds of youth 
for slavery. This, among other advantages, is an economy. 
The four inspectors never leave Paris, and never inspect 
anything. 

" The country was formerly divided into twenty-seven dis- 
tricts, each with its academy, governed by a rector and two 
or more inspectors. A complete academy answered nearly 
to our idea of a university, containing faculties of theology, 
law, medicine, science, and letters, with royal colleges, com- 
munal colleges, etc. The Academy of Paris was, of course, 
the most considerable — partly from its position, partly from 
the tendency there existed to send children and youth to 
study at the capital. At present there are academies in every 
department — each headed by a rector, and each entitled to 
confer degrees. The rectors, instead of depending only on 
the Grand Council, are revokable on the denunciation of a 
bishop, a priest, or a maire. As, however, it was impossible 
to establish eighty faculties, there are what may be called 



216 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

ambulating faculties, going about from one academj to the 
other at stated seasons. The persons emploj^ed in this ser- 
vice are agreges of the colleges, or substitute professors. 

" A bo}'- sent to a royal or imperial college is required to 
take a trousseau and to pay a thousand francs a year. The 
price is fixed and uniform, and there are no extras. Those 
who do not board, and the number is great, pay comparatively 
little. One of the privileges of the former royal colleges was, 
that all pupils in private schools were compelled everj'- day 
to go and attend certain classes ; so that it was absolutely 
impossible that the current ideas of the day should be shut 
out from them. This mechanism was in itself 'admirably 
adapted to effect its purpose, and we can only regret that 
French legislation and philosophy could find no better means 
of protecting the youthful mind of the country from the dis- 
astrous influence of ultra-catholic doctrines, than by inculca- 
ting, as it did rather indirectly than directly, the doctrines of 
pure Deism. I do not mean to say that it was the professed 
object of the University to inculcate these doctrines, but their 
adoption was the natural and necessary consequence of the 
whole system of education ; as, indeed, it must be the con- 
sequence of all merely literary, scientific, or professional 
instruction, directed by people who regard revelation as an 
absurdity. 

" Every year, what was called a programme of studies was 
published for the government schools ; and although the 
private schools were not directly compelled to abide by it, 
yet virtually they were so, because otherwise their pupils 
could not be prepared for the examinations that formed the 
necessary steps to all kinds of em])loyments. Since the 
establishment of the Empire, the tone of the studies has been 
generally lowered ; and in one of the programmes it is ex- 
pressly forbidden ' to incite the children to reason.' As 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 217 

much as possible it is recommended to iill the memory with 
results, and to pass over demonstrations. The whole object 
of the Imperial system, which, according to the present Min- 
ister, is calculated to renew the generation in ten years, is to 
suppress the use of the active faculties of the mind, and even 
to falsify the most ordinary notions of history. Children are 
not allowed to advance in the annals of their own country 
bej^ond the time of Henry IV., except that they are taught 
the chief incidents in the reign of ISTapoleon. I have heard 
of a recent instance in which a priest explained to some pupils 
that the Saint Bartholomew was merely a row between the 
Catholics and the Protestants, in which tlie former got the 
upper hand. One of the lads, who had heard a different ac- 
count, Avent and asked for information from a professor of 
history, who gave him the real facts, fie was immediately 
denounced, and received a letter of reprimand from the 
Minister, and a warning to keep his knowledge to himself for 
the future. 

" When the programme of 1852 was published, many pro- 
fessors were not prepared to adapt their lessons to it. A book- 
seller saw that it would be a good speculation to publish 
a series of volumes on the various departments of study. 
Aniong others was a history of Napoleon, the writer of 
which had not been sparing of enthusiasm. However, a 
literary man, though inclined to subserviency, cannot emu- 
late the monotonous baseness of a courtier. Two 'dangerous' 
phrases found their way into the epitome. One was this — 
a mere rhetorical qualification — ' In spite of some faults,' and 
then followed a gorgeous catalogue of the splendors of the 
Empire. The second was as follows : ' The clergy obstinately 
refused to abandon the dtme.^ Both were perceived and de- 
nounced by a priest. The Minister, however, glancing over 
the pages, had himself picked out the sacrilegious sentences, 



218 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

and had sent for the author in all haste to request him to 
suppress them before publication. But meanwhile four 
copies had been sold ; the denunciation of the priest compli- 
cated the affair ; and the Minister was obliged publicly to 
reprimand the author, who has probably since learned to 
tame the extravagances of his imagination, 

" I have already noticed some of the changes that have 
taken place in the constitution of the University, and have 
shown that, according to the idea of its founder, it no longer 
exists. It is singular that the great work of Napoleon I. 
should have found its chief antagonist in Napoleon III. How- 
ever, we must bear in mind, in order to understand this fact, 
that the work of destruction was commenced by the Legisla- 
tive Assembly under the Republic, at the instigation of the 
Legitimists and Church, and by means of what was called the 
Great Party of Order." * 

The Sorhonne is the great school of Paris. It was founded 
in 1255, by Robert de Sorbon, and was rebuilt in 1629, by 
Jacques Lemercier. It is the seat of the offices of the 
Academy of Paris, and of the three faculties of Catholic 
theology, literature, and science. The great law and med- 
ical schools for which the city is famous form a part of it 
also. The solemnities of the University are held at the 
Sorbonne, especially the yearly distributions of ,the prizes 
of the lyceums and colleges of Paris and Yersailles. 

The buildings are, in general, old and venerable in ap- 
pearance. The various schools are supplied with fine 
libraries, cabinets, and special collections. The Grand Ajii- 
pitheatre is decorated with paintings, and is capable of con- 
taining from fifteen hundred to two thousand people. The 

*'J'hese observations were written by Mr. St. John, some years ago, 
but, witli some modifications, are applicable to the state of affairs -of 
to-day. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 219 

lectures and examinations are free to all persons. The 
students number several thousand, and embrace persons of 
nearly every country. Ladies are not admitted singly, but 
reg-ulations have been recently put into effect by which they 
may enjoy all the benefits of the schools. A programme of 
the days, hours, and j^laces of the lectures, the names of the 
lecturers and their subjects, is posted in public for the in- 
formation of all who desire to attend; and the announce- 
ments of the examinations are made in the same way. Thou- 
sands go to hear these lectures, and in this way knowledge 
is diffused amongst others than the students. Being free to 
all, the very poorest may avail themselves of the oppor- 
tunities afforded by the college. 

In former times the Sorbonne was the great pillar of the 
Catholic faith in France. As a school of theology and 
canon law, it had no superior, and its decisions came to be 
regarded as final. "It was," says Jules Janin, "so to speak, 
a parliament without appeal, where all questions relative to 
the Eoman Catholic belief were gravely and severely dis- 
cussed. And as, at that time, faith was everywhere, in the 
smallest pamphlet of the writer, in the slightest word of the 
orator, in the confidential letter, it follows, from this ubi- 
quity of faith, that the Sorbonne also was everywhere ; that 
it entered every conscience, and had the right to inquire into 
books and ideas, which are now most foreign to it. 

"It was, in truth, a kind of religious inquisition, which, 
in case of need, had its dungeons and its funeral piles ; more 
than once it employed even the executioner against persons 
and books. But, compared with other inquisitions, that of 
the Sorbonne was benevolent, and even enlightened. It 
summoned around it the noblest minds, the greatest names, 
and the boldest and most courageous men; it was afraid ot 
nothing but innovators. With the Sorbonne, novelty was 



220 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

in all things the worst of schisms. Thus, even to the end, 
this grave and learned institution, which had heard the 
Prince de Conde and Bossuet support within its enclosure 
their theological dogmas, remembered the instructions of 
its illustrious protector, Cardinal Eichelieu. It defended 
itself as bravely as possible from all the rebels against au- 
thority, which the ^nd of the seventeenth and the whole of 
the eighteenth century produced. It defended, step by step, 
the moral dominion which the Eoraish Church had confided 
to it ; and when at last it was compelled to give way, it did 
so honorably, after having stood alone against all, alone 
against Voltaire, alone against the whole encyclopaedia. 
What do we say ? It had stood alone against M. Arnauld 
and against Pascal!" 

This was the Sorbonne towards the close of the eighteenth 
century. Let us glance now at a picture of it a quarter of a 
century ago, drawn by the same hand : 

" Imagine that, on some Monday, on one of those grey, 
dull frosts in the December of a Parisian winter, the neigh- 
borhood of the Sorbonne is fi.lled with an unusual crowd ; 
people run from all parts of the city, in all kinds of 
costume, some on foot, some in carriages, for amongst the 
impatient and shivering multitude, the prince of the blood 
must wait until the doors are open, as well as the student of 
one year's standing. At eleven o'clock the immense court of 
the Sorbonne is filled; at twelve, the doors are opened. In 
a moment, the vast hall is entirely occupied ; the}^ push and 
jostle each other ; the least space on the oak seats is eagerly 
disputed ; the crowd choose that the doors should remain 
open, and those who arrive late are kept at the foot of the 
staircase, only too happy to seize on their passage, some of 
tlio.-r [jowerful vibrations which announce the presence of the 
master. At the appointed hour, and by a certain entrance, 



PxVRIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 221 

which is, like all the rest, obstructed by numbers, a mau 
creeps with great difficulty, and makes his way to the pulpit 
amidst a thunder of applause; he takes his seat in anything 
but an elegant posture, generally he crosses his right leg over 
his left ; he leans his head upon his shoulder, like many of the 
great men of antiquity. But let us Avait; he will soon raise 
his head, his animated look Avill run over the attentive 
crowd, and his speech will become as animated as his look, 
and suddenly, the first hesitation passed, you must prepare 
to follow the orator in the most impetuous caprices of his 
thought. Ah ! what a wonderful literary labyrinth ! What 
a bold mixture of the soundest sense and the wildest flights 
of the imagination! — an admirable collection of philosophy, 
histor}^, and literature, in which the most different geniuses, 
the most opposite talents are found blended and confused 
with incredible skill : Bossuet by the side of Saurin, Shak- 
speare by the side of Moliere, the Telemaque of Fenelon by 
the side of the Utopia of Sir Thomas Moore. And through 
the thousand flowery labyrinths of his thoughts, it was 
curious to sf-e how this man contrived to make use of pres- 
ent literature ; to summon to the aid of the ancients, whose 
mighty power and energy he proclaimed, the contemporary- 
works which he subjected without remorse to his iron- 
ical analysis. You should have seen with what enthusiasm, 
and at the same time, with what good sense he spoke of the 
old master-pieces, Avhich he made one love; of the great 
writers, whom he surrounded with respect, and how he 
made the youthful assembly support everything, even the 
praises of Louis XIV. Thus you would follow him, in the 
literary history of the three great centuries to which Francis 
I. gave the signal. The auditors of this animated professor 
would, in imitation of him, pass from Montaigne and Eabe- 
lais to Madame de Sdvign^ and La Fontaine, from Saint 



222 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



Bvretnont and Fontenelle to Montesquieu and Massillon, 
until he has suddenly stopped before J. J. Eosseau and Vol- 
taire, to whose cause he has not been false, even in open 
Sorbonne, any more than in open Sorbonne, M. Guizot has 
been flilse to the cause of Melancthon and Luther."* 

In the School of Theology^ there are seven professorships. 
It is located at the Sorbonne. 

The School of Sciences, also located at the Sorbonne, has 




/iUC.rwcii^r ,■ 



The Law School 



eighteen professors. The school bestows diplomas or degrees 
of bachelor, licentiate, and doctor of sciences. 

The School of Letters, also at the Sorbonne, has twelve pro- 
fessorships, and confers diplomas or degrees of bachelor, licen- 
tiate, and doctor of letters. 

The School of Law is located in the Place du Pantheon. The 



* The orator here spokni of was M. Yillemain. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 223 

building which it occupies was commenced in 1771, but was 
not completed until 1823. It is a plain looking edifice, with 
a pediment supported by four large Ionic columns. It has 
eighteen professors, who lecture daily on the various branches 
of law. The number of students is about 2,000. The school 
has a fine librarj^, which is open to the students every day. 

The School of Medicine stands in the Eue de Y £cole de 
Medecine. The buildings occupied by it cover the site of the 
ancient College of Burgundy, and comprise a main building 
and two wings which unite an open gallery formed by two 
ranges of Ionic pillars. Over the door is a bass-relief repre- 
senting Louis XY., betweenWisdom and Benevolence, bestow- 
ing privileges to the School of Surgery. At the end of the 
Court a Corinthian portico projects beyond the front of the 
main building. The pediment is ornamented with a group 
representing Theory and Practice ]o\n\ug hands over an altar. 
The interior freize is studded with medallions with busts of 
distinguished medical men. In the court in front of the por- 
tico is a bronze statue of Bichat, erected in 1857. The build- 
ings are on a large scale, and contain besides Igcture rooms 
and schools, a splendid Museum of Anatomy and Materia 
Medica, a collection of surgical instruments, and a library of 
50,000 volumes, all open daily to professional men and students. 

The provision for teaching the science of medicine in all its 
branches, is very extensive and complete. There are over 
thirty professors, who deliver lectures to students gratuitously. 
There are usually about 1,500 students attending lectures, and 
the average number of graduates is about two hundred and 
forty annually. Before graduating students are required to 
pass numerous and severe preliminary examinations. If they 
pass this ordeal, they receive their diplomas, and are entitled 
to practice. The fees for these examinations and for tbo 
diploma are, in all, about 1250 francs. 



224 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



Attached to the Medical School are the following : 
The School of Practical Anatomy^ iu ^¥hich rooms for dissec- 
tion and amphitheatres are open for free courses of lectures. 
Connected with this school is a society of one hundred and 
fifty pupils, which enjoys special privileges for dissections 
and chemical experiments. The Dupuytren Museum is at- 
tached to the school, and forms one of the finest collections 
in existence. 




'J'ho ^ledical Scliool. 

The ' mj hiiheatre of th't Hospitals is situated in tlie Rue dn 
Fer a Moulin^ Qu.artier St. Marcel^ upon the site of the ceme- 
tery of Clamart. This establishment is owned by the Directors 
of Public Assistance, and is reserved by them for the students 
of medicine and surgery, practising in or out of the hospitals 
of Paris. Courses of lectures, dissections and anatomical 
demonstrations are given here. 

To a lover of the " healing art," it is, perhaps, the most 
interesting place in Paris. Its operations are conducted on a 
larger and more thorouo-h scale than those of the other estab- 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 225 

lisbments. " The building," says a recent visitor, "was form- 
erly a liospital, * * * and the entrance to it is laid out 
in the form of a garden. Passing through this, we entered 
one of the wards, and my eye suddenly fell upon a scene the 
remembrance of which might well haunt a man in his dying 
hour! 

" The ward was about fifty feet in length, by twenty in 
width, and, upon either side, were twelve zinc dissecting 
tables, on each of which la}'- a dead human body, or such 
portion of it as the knife of the student had left. They were 
Ijdug in all positions, and were in different stages of decay. 
Here was what had been an aged, gray haired woman, 
stretched on her back, her arms crossed upon her shrivelled 
breast, and her sightless eyes wide open and staring ! On 
the adjoining table were a head and a trunk, and next to it 
was a pair of legs, with the muscles laid bare, and the flesh 
green with rapidly increasing mortification. A poor little 
boy"s body, with the skull sawed open and the brain bared, 
lay upon one of the tables; and on another seven or eight 
eadavres, divided into parts, were piled up, or rather tumbled 
together promiscuously, like so many dead rats in a gutter. In 
one body the abdomen was laid open and the abdominal viscera 
were exposed to view, while in another the flesh upon one 
side of the face was taken off, and the facial muscles and 
nerves exhibited. Some were so mutilated that scarcely a 
vestige of humanity could be recognized in their hacked 
limbs and ghastly faces. A sickly, charnel-like smell per- 
vaded the room, not improved by the odor of tobacco, which 
most of the students engaged in dissecting were smoking from 
very ancient pipes. At the tables, patiently bending over the 
bodies, or parts of bodies before them, sat the students — gener- 
ally young men — with their knives in their hands, tracing 
up nerves, muscles, and arteries, or carefully examining the 
15 



226 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

location of the different organs. Upon entering the wards, 
they change their coats for blue blouses and white aprons, and 
each one keeps constantly by his side a little piece of nitrate 
of silver, with which to immediately cauterize any cut which 
he might accidentally give himself; as these are always poi- 
sonous, and often very dangerous. Ranged along the middle 
of the aisle were a number of tubs for the reception of the 
pieces cut off'. 

" The students usually »work on a subject five or six days 
without submitting it to any preparation ; but those wishing 
to make long and patient dissections, inject the arteries and 
veins with a solution of chloride of sodium, which preserves 
the bodies for a long time without decay. There are four of 
these rooms, all presenting the same general features ; and 
after passing through them, we entered what the students 
facetiously call the 'Salle de Reception,' where the bodies are 
received each day, and where all assemble at two o'clock for 
the purpose of making a choice of 'subjects.' Here was, if 
possible, a more revolting sight than the other. Thirty or 
forty naked bodies, males and females, old and young, were 
laid indiscriminately side by side like logs of wood, and elbow- 
ing each other; and as many students were examining them, 
and noisily discussing their merits and disputing their choice. 
One among them was what remained of a beautiful young 
girl — beautiful still in death — and, in this horrid companion- 
ship, clean-limbed and fresh looking, with a fine brown, full 
face, and large black eyes, wide open and staring on vacancy. 
She could not have been more than seventeen or eighteen 
years of age, and could not have died of any prolonged dis- 
ease, for she looked as though it needed but a breath to make 
that finely developed bosom heave with the impulses of life 
again. She fell to the lot of my medical friend, and three 
days afterwards, he told me had cut her all to pieces. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 227 

"The 'subjects' in the dissecting-rooms are furnished prin- 
cipally from the hospitals. Patients who die there are kept 
twenty-four hours, and if not claimed in that time by some 
friend or relative, are marked for the dissecting-rooms. 
About four thousand bodies are thus annually appropriated, 
the remains of which, after the student has completed his 
investigations, are deposited in a corner specially appropriated 
to the purpose, in the cemetery of Mont Parnasse." 

Besides the foregoing, there is a School of Accouchement at 
tached to the hospital of the Maternity. It is intended to 
educate midwives for the provinces, 

A School of Pharmacy (21 Mue de VArhaUie) is also in 
operation, with lectures and experiments. It has a small but 
valuable library, and collections of botany and natural his- 
tory. The course taught here comprises organic and inor- 
ganic chemistry, toxology, physics, pharmacy, pharmaceuti- 
cal natural history, botany, and zoology. 

Next in order to the institutions already named are the 
Lyceums (Lycees). They are the high-schools of the Empire, 
and are directly under the control of the State. There are 
five of them in Paris — the Lycees Bonaparte, Charlemagne^ 
Louis le Grand, Napoleon, and Saint Louis. They are scat- 
tered through the city, and are numerously attended. The 
annual charge for a pupil is from 1,200 to 1,500 francs, and 
includes books, clothing, medical attendance, etc. In the 
pupil's first year, however, there is an extra charge of 600 
francs for his trousseau, or first supply of clothing, linen, etc. 
The pupils are uniformed, and the discipline is rigid. The 
system of education is in the main good, and is directed by 
the University, of which these schools form a part. 

There are other colleges and private schools in the city, 
which are well attended. They are generally to be found in 
the less frequented quarters, and some of them have acquired 



228 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



high reputations; but, whatever their excellence, their pupils 
are obliged after attaining a certain age, to pursue certain 
studies in the Lyceums. Thej are marched there and back 
as often each day as is necessary. 

There are nearly 500 primary or communal schools, infant 
schools, special schools, charitable nurseries, etc., in Paris. 
They are attended by about 80,000 pupils. 

The special schools, under the direction of the Minister of 
Public Institutions, ui'e as follows : 




The Lyf^e Napoleon. 

The Superior Normal ScJ/ool, designed to educate professors 
for the lyceums and colleges of the University. Candidates 
for admission are required to pass public examinations. 

The School of Charters is intended to educate persons in the 
science of explaining ancient writings and inscriptions. The 
building in which it is established, No. 14 Rue chi C/iaume, is 
very interesting. It was built by the Constable Oliver de 
Clisson. for a residence, in 1371, and was afterwards occu- 
pied by the Dukes of Guise. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. U29 

Special Schools of living Oriental Languages^ are in success- 
ful operation. 

The remainder of the special schools are under the control 
of other ministers than the Minister of Public Instruction. 
They are : 

The Polytechnic School^ established in 1794. It is com- 
manded by a General of the French Ai^my, and is intended 
for the education of young men for the military and naval 
services. Candidates for admission must be under twenty 
years of age, and must remain at the school for two years. 
At the end of this time, they are examined. If found c- ■.)•■ 
petent, tliey are permitted to choose (according to their class 
standing) the brancb of the service most suited to their taste. 
These are usually graded as follows : The service of mines 
and civil engineers, telegraphs, military engineers, the to- 
bacco manufactory, the artillery, and the staff". The naval 
grades are open to them in the sam.e way. 

This school is considered the first in France, and both 
professors and pupils naturally regard their positions with 
considerable pride. 

The School of Fine Arts, in the Hue Bonaparte, Quai Mala- 
quais. It is designed for the education of painters, sculptors, 
engravers, and architects. It is provided with elegant and 
commodious buildings, and with extensive museums and 
collections illustrating the various branches taught here. 
Connected with it is the Conservatory of Music and Declama- 
tion, which is situated in the Rue du Faubourg Poissonnih'e. 
It was established in 178-i, and is destined to prepare actors 
for the Imperial theatres, and to educate musicians of all 
kinds, singers, professors, and even composers. 

There are also special schools for Staff Officers and Naval 
Engineers, schools of Hydrography, Military Schools of Medi- 
cine and Pharmacy, (for the education of surgeons, phy-'si- 



230 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

cians, and apothecaries for the army,) Shooting Schools, Schools 
of Oymnasiics, Horse- Training Schools, Hiding, Fencing, and 
Swimming Schools, and Schools for the Preparation of Tobacco. 

The Theological Seminaries are those of Saint Sulpice, of 
Foreign Missionaries, of the Holy Ghost, and several others 
of minor importance. . They are designed for the education 
of priests, missionaries, ecclesiastical teachers and professors, 
and also for the education of children destined to the priest- 
hood. 

There are also English, Scotch, and Irish, and Polish na- 
tional schools and colleges, all Catholic institutions, in the 
city. 

The learned societies are numerous, and embrace every 
topic known to civilization. For an enumeration of them 
the reader is referred to one of the many guide-books to 
Paris. 



XYI. 

STUDENTS AND STUDENT LIFE. 

There are usually between five and six thousand students 
residing in Paris, and though they do not, as formerly, con- 
fine themselves exclusively to the Latin Quarter, the ma- 
jority of them may still be found living within it, or upon 
its borders. 

Their ostensible object in coming to Paris is to seek 
knowledge, and truly they find it; but not, in the majority 
of cases, such knowledge as is contained in their books. 
They study new mistresses more than old masters, and are 
better judges of the measures of the Gloserie than of the 
measures of the bards of Greece and Rome. Far be it from 
me to say that there are no students^ taking the word in its 
strictest sense, in Paris. I merely say that the black sheep 
outnumber the white, and that the drones, and not the work- 
ing bees, give the character to this human hive. Let us 
glance at two opposite types of student nature. 

M. Hippolyte is the son of a small proprietor in one of the 
remote provinces. Being the brightest of his family, his 
parents naturally desire that he shall achieve distinction in 
the world, and, in order to enable him to do so, make nu- 
merous sacrifices of their own comfort and of that of the 
rest of the family, and send him to school. He passes 
through the primary and secondary schools with credit, and 
at the age of twenty takes the honors at his rural college, 
and is rewarded with a diploma and the degree of Bachelor. 

231 



232 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

But his education is not yet completed. On the contrary, 
it is scarcely begun, either in his own estimation or in the 
opinion of his parents. He can learn noihing more in the 
provinces, and he must go to Paris for the rest. The great 
city is a terribly expensive place, however, and the good 
father hesitates before making the final decision ; but his 
bright boy must not grow up a dunce, and — the die is cast. 
It is settled that young Hippolyte shall have a fixed income 
of one thousand francs per annum — a small allowance it is 
true, but just one-third of the entire dependence of the 
family. The boy hesitates now, in his turn, for the fresh 
generosity of youth and the tender home love are yet 
strong in him. He appreciates the magnitude of the sacri- 
fice that is being made for him, and his first impulse is to 
give up his hopes and his plans ; but he consoles himself 
with the thought that he may yet rise to wealth and honors 
with the knowledge he is going in search of, and that he 
can then repay his dear ones for their goodness to him. 

He reaches Paris full of earnestness and hope, and reso- 
lutely settles himself down in plain quarters to hard stud}^. 
The great city is not" so simple in its ways as his province, 
and he has trouble in making his slender income go through 
the year. He accomplishes it successfully for six months, 
living simply and working hard. Then the influence of the 
state of society in which he is placed begins its work upon 
him. He sees hundreds of his class around him, idle and 
careless. Their incomes are as small as his, but they are 
never troubled with care. They have their luxuries, their 
pleasures, and appear to get along well enough with the 
schools. He is eager to know how they accomplish so easily 
that which costs him so much care and labor, and in his 
effort to discover this, gradually falls into their ways. His 
hours are less regular now, his books are opened less fre- 



\ 



PAKIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 233 

quently, and closed sooner. He grows weary and discon- 
tented, and adopts the pleasures and dissipations of his 
comrades. The old home influence dies out, and the con- 
science whicli at first pricked him so sorely for his delin- 
quencies, is lulled into a pleasant tranquillity. He began 
with thinking life a great battle in which he must conquer 
or fall, and he ends by thinking it a rare comedy which he 
must enjoy as heartily as possible. The old home influence 
dies out, it is true, but the companionship of the half wild 
young men into which he is thrown does not satisfy him. 
Plis shirts and his clothing generally are sadly in need of at- 
tention, but his income is too small to allow him to spend 
much money upon them, and he is not willing yet to run in 
debt. His friends smile knowingly at his troubles, and with 
one voice advise him to seek the assistance of the bright little 
seamstress, who is his next door neighbor. He thinks over 
the advice and acts upon it, and before long it is told about 
the quarter that M. Hippolyte has determined to practice 
economy in the company of Mademoiselle Julie. 

The rubicon of the student's life is now crossed, and (I speak 
of French students) an experienced observer will not have 
much difficulty in predicting the result. M. Hippolyte will 
either sink into a condition of perpetual vagrancy, always 
studying, but never accomplishing anything, and fall at last 
into poverty and want ; or he will, after passing a few years 
of this life, obtain his diploma in some questionable way, and 
go back to his province, marry, and f;\ll into tliat state of 
torpor and stupidity so characteristic of the French provin- 
cials. 

On the other hand, the career of M. Adolphe is different. 
He, too, comes from the provinces, and he enters upon his 
studies with no more honest resolves than did M. Hippolyte. 
His income is but 500 francs, and his lodging is in a garret. 



234 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

The purchase of his books reduces his slender store fearfully, 
and his clothing takes more from it. His privations are 
more severe than those of M. Hippolyte, and his temptations 
greater. Perhaps he is more indifferent, or more heroic ; but, 
however this may be, he remains faithful to his task. His 
little garret is a bleak place for study, and the winter winds 
sweep through it drearily. The cold strikes into his very 
marrow, but fire is a luxury he cannot afford. Yet in spite 
of these discomforts — in spite of poverty, hunger, rags, and 
bodily suffering — this man toils on, never faltering in his 
task until he has won the honors of his school. A diploma 
means more with him than with M. Hippolyte, for he has 
earned it by the sweat of his soul. Ten years hence, when 
M. Hippolyte has forgotten almost the name of his college, 
and is simply a stupid proprietaire^ M. Adolphe will have 
written his name high up in the temple of Fame. 

These,- it may be said, are extreme cases. They do not 
strike me as such, but however they may appear to others, 
it will be easy to draw from them an idea of the average 
student. It may be said that his condition is one of intellect- 
ual gypsydom. Your average student has a contempt for 
the realties and duties of life, and views his present exist- 
ence and his future chiefly through the medium of his 
imagination and his passions. He fancies he is on the way 
to distinction, when in reality he is going to the dogs. Pie 
thinks he is becoming great and noble, when he is cultivating 
qualities which will prove his ruin. Your exceptional stu- 
dent, on the other hand, is grave, shy, retiring, and though 
he may laugh now at the responsibilities of life, struggles 
faithfully in the midst of poverty and hunger to fit himself 
for them hereafter, and it is from this small, exceptional class 
that France draws her great men. 

The majority of the students in Paris come from the prov- 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 235 

inces. Many of them are really poor; but all, as a rule, are 
on small incomes. It is a habit of French parents to send 
their sons away from home to the schools of the most ex- 
pensive city in Europe, with allowances not large enough 
to supply them with the ordinary necessities of life. They 
think that poverty will teach them prudence, economy, and 
all the virtues, when in reality it has the opposite effect. 
The average income thus allowed is about one thousand 
francs, or two hundred American dollars. A mere pittance, 
you will say, and so it is ; but thousands of young men are 
expected to live upon it and store their minds with learning. 
There have been men who have done this in spite of priva- 
tions, and therefore French fathers seem to think poverty a 
help to the acquirement of knowledge. " They have read 
and heard," says a careful observer, " of model young men 
who have studied for years in poverty on bread and water, 
until their minds have been made opulent with ideas of 
exchangeable value, and all imagine that their son, who is, 
perhaps, wilful, lazy, gluttonous, luxurious, vain, or simple, 
will emulate so good an example, provided only he be placed 
in a position of artificial poverty. Many fathers who could 
afford a handsome allowance, purposely send their children 
to struggle with the world on an income which a clerk, ex- 
perienced in want and broken to privation, scarcely finds 
sufiicient. The theory may be good, but the result is de- 
plorable. Virtue is no common thing. Fifty stumble to 
one that keeps upright." 

The manner in which these little incomes are eked out is 
different in almost every separate case ; but all require the 
exercise of no little ingenuity in the effort to make both ends 
meet. A student whose case occurs to me at this moment, 
shall illustrate the best way in -which the task is accom- 
plished. He pays one hundred and fifty francs (thirty dollars) 



236 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

per annum for his rent ; his meals cost him about four hun- 
dred and fifty francs (ninety dollars) during the same period; 
the expenses of his education are about two hundred and fifty 
francs, (fifty dollars) ; and his incidental expenses, including 
fire and lights, foot up the remaining one hundred and fifty 
francs, (thirty dollars.) He does the bulk of his washing, 
and spends little or no money on his wardrobe. He is an 
economical fellow; and by stinting himself systematically, 
gets through the year with very few debts. Imagine, then, 
the misery endured by one who is not so prudent; the fright- 
ful debts he piles up, without the remotest prospect of paying 
them, and the thousand ways in which his poverty forces 
him to sacrifice his self-respect and manliness. It costs him 
many a pang to do these things at first, but he grows care- 
less and shameless with experience, and at length becomes 
unblushing in his vagabondage. Sit half an hour in a com- 
pany of students relating their adventures, and tell me if 
your manhood is not put to the blush for their avowed lack 
of that quality. 

Most students come to Paris with the determination to 
work, and for awhile they do work hard. Their careless- 
ness and idleness are slow growths, but are unfortunately 
sure ones. Some, as I have said, resist the temptations 
around them, and work faithfully until their student days 
are over ; but the majority are unquestionably black sheep. 
One who spent several years in the schools as a student, 
asserts that of fifteen hundred law students who were his 
companions, not more than fifty really pursued their studies. 
The rest grew careless, and at length became mere men 
about town. So it is now. Many spend their time at pub- 
lic balls and places of amusement. Others seriously con- 
sider themselves studious, but are far from being so. They 
read poetry and romances instead of law and medicine, and 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 237 

study the female character more deeply than anything else. 
They see luxury and elegance surrounding others, and they 
long for it. Their desires pass far beyond their means, and 
they relax their energies to dream of comforts, instead of 
working to secure them. Thus they fritter away their 
abilities, and, naturally perhaps, cry out against the state 
of society which makes industry the legitimate price of en- 
joyment. They are fond of society, and after awhile be- 
come very lonely. They seek companionship at some neigh- 
boring co/e, or at the public balls of the quarter. Finally, 
your true student* takes some bright-eyed grisette to his 
garret, to share his poverty and his embarrassments. When 
he tires of her, he throws her aside, and she seeks another 
lover, while he returns home, or goes to the dogs. 

As long as they live together, however, the student and 
grisette are to all intents and purposes man and wife, and are 
commonly .spoken of as such by their friends, a union of this 
kind being popularly termed a " marriage at the Twenty-first 
Arrondissement." He carries her to the theatre, to the fetes, 
to the Closerie des Lilas, where she has gained the sarcastic 
nickname of Etudiante^ and carries her into the country on 
the holidays. She keeps his "house" for him, mends his 
clothing, manages his expenses and economizes for him. She 
is far below him in position and intellect, and she knows it, 
but she shares witli him his troubles and his pleasures, com- 
monly exhibiting more firmness than he in the former. Thus, 
though in reality a bachelor, the student is practically a mar- 
ried man, and experiences all the cares and most of the respon- 
sibilities of wedded life, without sharing its truest pleasures 
or its respectability. 

Most of the students are continually in debt, and generally 

* I use the term in its Parisian sense. 



238 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

to their landlords, the obligation of rent being commonly but 
little regarded b}^ them. Between landlords and themselves 
there is always open war. The landlords are very shrewd in 
their efforts to avoid being victimized. " Unless very ranch 
in want of lodgers," says a pleasant writer, " they insist that 
enough furniture shall be brought in to answer for the rent 
of two quarters. The law is inexorable in their favor. It 
is impossible to remove property, except with the connivance 
of the porter, until the rent is paid ; and it is the most import- 
ant part of Cerberus's duty to see that you do not. If the 
slightest suspicion of poverty attach to you, your movements 
are watched with disagreeable perseverance : and though 
Anatole, living in an entresol, did manage to move through 
the windows, and Madame Pinson through a shop on the 
ground-floor of her house — paying I know not what dues in 
passing — yet it is rare that such attempts are successful. 
Patrols are particularly inquisitive about carts seen in motion 
late at night. 

" Although the law allows a landlord to retain furniture 
for rent, it cannot be sold for a year and a day. Lodgers may 
take away their bed and bedding; also their instruments of 
labor. Instances, however, in which this privilege is arbi- 
trarily denied occur. Petty infringements of law are always 
possible when possession and misery are at war. Alexis, who 
has been peculiarly unfortunate, had himself not long before 
been deprived even of his easels and his brushes, and was glad 
to get away in his best clothes. Such a loss was irreparable. 

" I scarcely know a single young French student who has 
not been more than once in serious difficulties when quarter- 
day arrived. Probably the same is more or less the case all 
the world over ; but in France the situation is so common as 
to have given birth to a body of philosophy thereunto adapted. 
.It is a received opinion among a large class of promising 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 239 

joaths, who are fitting themselves for the highest offices of 
State, as well as for the liberal professions, that a demand for 
rent is an exaction which thej are almost bound to evade if 
possible. Of course the necessities of life, and a certain in- 
stinct of probity, often make them run counter to their phi- 
losophy; but the most correct in practice are fond of bandying 
about dishonest jokes, and listen with delight to an account 
of a moving to ' the sound of the wooden bell,' as they express 
it. In England, a young gentleman would be ashamed to 
boast before half-a-dozen comrades that he had carried away 
the chief part of his furniture bit by bit, or shunted it all out 
of window on to the top of a cab — partly from unwillingness 
to admit that he was ever in such straits, but chiefly because 
he could not be sure that the story would be received with 
an approving laugh. In many classes of French society, such 
a confession exalts him who makes it almost into a hero; and 
the younger and less experienced applaud most uproariously, 
promising themselves to do likewise at the first opportunity. 
'Most men,' say the Cynic Blount, 'are dishonest, but few 
desire to appear so.' Among these bright youths many do 
not care about seeming dishonest, if they are so with wit, and 
in a certain measure. 

" When a student receives a sum of money he often repeats 
the old joke, that, having determined to be economical and 
avoid all unnecessary expense, he shall decline to pay his debts. 
Too often the pleasantry is carried into practice; and when 
it is not so, these jovial fellows pretend that their only object 
in handing out money is to astonish their creditors. For 
landlords do not enjoy a monopoly in this respect. Tailors 
and other tradesmen innocent enough to give credit, are put 
off to the last moment. This is made a matter of principle, 
at least in conversation ; and the salve applied to the debtor's 
conscience is, that the villains always charge double the reason- 



240 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

able price — a plain reason for paying them nothing at all. It 
will be seen that I carefully distinguish principle from prac- 
tice ; for in this, as in every other case, the French are not 
half so bad as they pretend to be. However, it is certain that, 
either from necessity or choice, they put in practice their doc- 
trines sufficiently often to have made them regarded with sus- 
picion by landlords, porters, tradesmen, and other sordid 
beings, who require to be paid, and see no beauty in art and 
science suf&cient to induce them to supply their merchandise 
gratuitously. We must take care, however, not to include 
in our judgment those few ardent workers who, sustained by 
hope and genius, conquer kingdoms of knowledge whilst 
they are unable to pay for a dinner, and who sometimes try 
to laugh off the bitter reflections of poverty, by scoffing at 
the rights and duties of this world, whilst secretly they sub- 
ject themselves to sufferings approaching torture in the des- 
perate struggle to meet their engagements. The students 
generally have fixed incomes, though small ; and when they 
are in difficulties, it is because pleasure or improvidence has 
exhausted their money. 

" In the French novels that undertake to describe the man- 
ners of students in Paris, perhaps one-third is taken up with 
accounts of the stratagems by which landlords and other 
creditors are evaded; and any joke of the same family, how- 
ever stale, made use of on the stage, is sure to be received 
with a shout of laughter. There is a wide-spread sympathy 
in the public with non-payment. It must not be supposed, 
however, that I wish to draw too rigid an inference from the 
tone of contemporary literature. On the contrary, I hope to 
be able to show that it is impossible to acquire correct *deas 
of French manners from French novels and dramas, without 
personal experience, or the assistance that I am endeavoring 
to give. I merely point out, in order to guard against denial, 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 241 

that the unconscious admission of native writers coincide with 
my own observations. 

" The difference between real life and the life of the stage 
or of romance is this, that in the lattier, when a young man 
has spent some years in a society whose code, often infringed, 
is almost that of sharpers, he, as a rule, makes a marriage of 
pure love towards the end, and glows with all the virtue of 
an Aristides, not only paying his debts, but compensating 
whomsoever he may have wronged. This is not the natural 
coarse of things. The action of to-day is the germ of that 
of to-morrow, and he who has once accustomed his mind to 
disregard the rules of right in the early time of life, rarely 
relapses into honesty as he grows old." * 

Medical students have the privilege of living in furnished 
apartments, but law students are required to possess furniture 
of their own. One might think from this, that the latter 
were the more respectable of the two, but such is not the 
case. They are usually on a par as regards their virtues and 
their vices. 

Students in Paris, as elsewhere, resort to all sorts of devices 
to avoid their studies and yet escape the consequences of their 
negligence. Many of them content themselves with answer- 
ing to their names at roll call. Then they abscond. Often 
friends answer for each other, and even carry this deception 
to the point of replying to a question put to the absentee. 
It is said that the professors are not always entirely deceived 
in this way, but are too good-natured to investigate the sliam. 
I have been told, though I cannot answer for it, that students 
have actually attended the examinations under false names, 
and have thus obtained certificates for comrades who were 
ignorant of almost the first principles of law, and I have seen 

* Purple Tints of Parts. 
16 



241 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

it asserted that a man was arrested some years ago, who was 
charged with making his living by personating students at 
examinations, and securing for them certificates which they 
did not deserve. His disguises and simulations of voice were 
said to be perfect. The worst of it is that these frauds are 
regarded by the students not as dishonesty, but as excellent 
jokes. The fellow just - referred to, though arrested and 
imprisoned, was not even tried for his offence, but was dis- 
charged on the plea that there was no law by which to prose- 
cute liim. 

I have mentioned these blots upon French student life 
chiefly because the world is familiar with the other side ; but 
I would not be understood as condemning too harshly. I 
cannot help regarding these young men as victims of circum- 
stances, or more properly, victims of a system- both faulty 
and criminal. Could any better result be produced by a sys- 
tem which throws thousands of young men into the gayest 
and most unpriucipled city in the world, without restraining 
infl.uences of any kind, at a period of life when the passions 
are strongest and the imagination most impatient of control ? 
No supervision is exercised over them in matters of the 
greatest importance. The police watch most carefully ove) 
their politics, it is true, but there is no power to compel them 
to study; no hand outstretched to save them from vice and 
vagrancy. They come here mere children, utterly incapable 
in themselves of resisting the influences which surround 
them, and they are thrown helpless into the midst of tempta- 
tions and trials which cannot be realized by those who have 
not experienced them. Is it a wonder then that they fall 
victims to thein ? There are those to-day in France who cry 
loudly for reform in their system of government. What 
more important field than this lies open to improvement ? 
Surely it must be full of evil to any country to allow its cul- 



PARIS BY SI;NLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 243 

tivated men to spend their best and freshest years in such a 
state of society as I have described. The seed sown in such 
fertile soil must some day yield abundant fruit. 

The students are keen politicians, and are generally to be 
found in the ranks of the opposition. They are ultra social- 
ists in their views — a natural consequence of their mode of 
life. Established government, a rigid enforcement of order, 
and a rational and well-regulated state of society, find in 
them sworn foes. Even those who in after-life become the 
firmest friends of order and society, generally pass their stu- 
dent days in the lap of Eed Republicanism. Your student 
thinks it a crying shame that there should be rich men in the 
world while he is so poor, and talks eloquently of the beau- 
ties of communism ; but let him go out into the world, acquire 
property, and obtain a recognized position in society, and 
there is no man so bitter as he in his denunciation of his old 
comrades. As a student he believes in the holiness of passion ; 
let him marry, and he is the last man in the world to submit 
quietly to any invasion of his domestic peace. 

The students of Paris are bitterly hostile to the existing 
Government of France, and rarely let pass an opportunity 
to show their hostility to the Emperor and his system. The 
forms which this hostility assumes are rarely dangerous, but 
are generally puerile and amusing. Yet they do not shrink 
from more serious manifestations ; for if they have the faults 
of youth, they have also one of its chief virtues — courage. 
To their credit be it said, they have never failed to prove 
their faith by their works, and in every revolution which 
has changed the government of the land, their dead have 
lain thick in the streets of Paris. Naturally they are closely 
watched by the police. Their residences are all recorded, 
and their every movement jotted down in the note-books of 
the spies and informers who hang upon their track. Lei 



244 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

them be never so immoral, never so careless of their duties, 
it is nothing to the State ; but the slightest whisper of 
politics unsatisfactory to the authorities, and they get into 
trouble. They are never at pea®e with the police, and the 
police never relax their surveillance of them. Eeprimands 
and warnings are frequent, and the occasions for them full 
as common. 

They are queer looking fellows, and you may recognize 
them by their affected and ludicrous styles of dress, and 
their outlandish manners. Refinement is detested by them, 
and each one seeks to be as eccentric and oftentimes as rude 
as possible. The poverty of their dress is their misfortune, 
not their fault, for doubtless all would sacrifice this much to 
refinement were it in their power to do so; but as water is 
plentiful and soap cheap, there can be no excuse for the dirt, 
which is a distinguishing feature of their appearance. The}'- 
live principally at the Gremeries^ unless, poor fellows, they 
are too poor to go even there. Drunkenness is not common 
amongst them; though it is said that ahsinthe is becoming a 
favorite in the Latin Quarter. Their principal dissipations 
are an evening at the theatre or at one of the public balls, or 
a da}^ in the country. They are generous to each other, and 
faithful beyond expression. It is very rare that even the most 
searching investigation by the authorities succeeds in discover- 
ing anything by their evidence. Traitors are almost unknown 
amongst them. Their quarrels are sharp and severe, and 
are occasionally settled by the duello ; but these affairs are 
hushed up, and the utmost caution exercised in them, for 
the interposition of the police is not desired. Their frier; d- 
ships are romantic, but sincere, and often last, through trial 
and adversity, far into after life. Wild and fierce as they 
appear, impatient of civilization and restraint as they are, 
the most of them are downright clever fellows, and if I have 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 245 

painted their faults too strongly, it is through no hostility to 
them. Would you see them in all their glory, seek them 
at the Gloserie des Lilas when the evening is half over, and 
the sport is growing wildest and most ungovernable. There 
they have thrown off all restraint, and you can study them 
at your leisure. 



XTII. 

THE PARKS OF PARIS. 

I. 

THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE. 

Four miles from the Louvre, and just beyond the western 
walls of the city, is a magnificent park, covering two thou- 
sand five hundred acres, and known as the Bois de Boulogne, 
from the little village of Boulogne just beyond it. 

In the twelfth century Philippe the Tall, gave permission 
to some citizens of Paris to build a chapel in this wood near 
the little village of Menus, in commemoration of a pilgrim- 
age they had just made to Boulogne-on-the-sea. The chapel 
was built and called Notre Dame de Boulogne. In Charle- 
magne's reign, the wood in which this chapel was located 
extended from the Louvre to St. Cloud, and at the time I 
refer to, it was the principal remnant of the ancient forest 
of Rouveray, which had always been famous as the haunt 
of assassins and robbers. It was so much infested by them 
in the reign of Charles V. that the stout Constable Dugues- 
clin wrote to the King, "It is a great pity. Sire, that within 
two leagues of your capital one cannot travel in safety, or 
without being at the mercy of thieves. At the approaching 
peace, I will make, if your Majesty will permit it, a circuit 
of this wood with my men-at-arms, and will purge it of 

these vermin." Until the reign of Louis XL, the wood was 
246 




S47 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 2-49 

known as the Forest of Rouveraj and the Forest of Saint 
Cloud, but at this time it began to be called the Wood of 
Boulogne, Francis I., passionately fond oT hunting, enclosed 
it with walls, laid it off' regularly, and stocked it with game. 
Later still, he built here the Chateau of Madrid, Henry II. 
and Diana of Poitiers gave brilliant fetes here; and Charles 
IX. built La Muette, and spent much time in hunting upon a 
truly royal scale. Henry IV. planted a number of mulberry- 
trees here, in his efforts to promote the manufacture of silk 
in France, Louis XIII, hunted here sometimes ; but Louis 
XIV. deserted it for Versailles. Louis XV. visited it, it is 
true, but it was only that he might have more license at La 
Muette for his debauchery than he had at Paris. It was 
here, also, that Louis XVI. received Marie Antoinette, when 
she came from Austria to marry him. In 1815, the English 
and Prussian armies occupied the wood, and cut down the 
old trees for fuel. In 1852, Napoleon III. presented the 
wood to the city of Paris, and, in concert with the muni- 
cipal authorities, proceeded to lay it off' as a park. Lakes 
were dug out, waterfalls formed, mounds raised, new roads 
cut, and the old wood converted into one of the most beau- 
tiful and delightful pleasure grounds of Europe. The trees 
are small, being comparatively young, but all the shrubbery 
is beautiful, and is kept with the greatest care and taste. 
There is no more beautiful, no pleasanter, place of resort in 
Paris. 

The principal route to the Bois is by the Avenue de V Ira- 
peralrice^ a magnificent street extending from the Arc de Tn- 
omphe to the fortifications. The middle of this avenue is 
occupied by a fine carriage road, and a soft track for eques- 
trians runs by its side. Passing the fortifications by a wide 
gateway, near which is a station of the Belt Railway, we enter 
the Bois. Taking the principal road before us, the jRoute du 



250 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Lac, we reach the borders of the Zac Inferieure, a pretty sheet 
of water, 1,200 yards long, and covering about twenty-six 
acres. It is from* two to ten feet deep, and contains two 
islands, on one of which is a cafe, and restaurant in a Swiss 
chalet. Pretty row-boats ply on the lake, at moderate t'.harges. 
The banks are bordered by a series of charming walks and 
drives, which are always full of people in fair weather. The 
lawn between the lake and the fortifications, is called the 
Pare aux Daims, and is stocked with deer. The upper end 
of the lake is ornamented with a fine artificial waterfall, and 
with an open space provided with chairs, called the Bond des 
Cascades. Just beyond is Lac Superieur (the "upper lake"), 
much smaller than its neighbor, and connected with it by a 
little strait spanned by a handsome bridge. A little to the 
south of this lake is the Butte Mortemart, a considerable mound 
formed of the earth obtained in excavating the lakes. It is 
prettily laid off, and commands a fine view. In the south- 
eastern corner of the park is the Mare d'' Auteuil, a pretty 
little natural lake, shaded by weeping v/illows. 

A broad and finely constructed avenue leads from the for- 
tifications, at the Porte Maillot, to the southwestern portion of 
the park now occupied by the grounds connected with the race 
course of Longchamys. At the end of this road is a magnifi- 
cent artificial waterfall, forty feet in height. This is regarded 
by the Parisians as the chief beauty of the park, and the effect 
is indeed very fine and natural. An extensive view may be 
obtained from the top of these rocks of the meadows which 
border the Seine and the country back to Mont Valerien and 
Saint Cloud. 

Just beyond the cascade is the famous race course of Long- 
champs, fitted up with handsome stands, booths, and every 
convenience desirable at such a place. Between the race 
course and the cascade, are the ruins of the famous old abbey 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 251 

of Longchamps, to whicli the court ladies used to retire to atone 
for their sins bj pious meditations, and perhaps with a view 
of recuperating their energies for fresh conquests. The site 
is in part occupied hj the Yilla of the Prefect of the Seine, 
and the only trace now left of the original edifice is an old 
tower. Close by is a mill, built by Blanche of Castille, the 
mother of Saint Louis, for the use of the Abbey. It is now 
repaired and pumps up the water for the lakes. To the west 
of the northern end of the Lac Inferieur is an obelisk erected 
in the seventeenth century, on the site of an ancient cross 
which Philippe le Bel placed here to the memory of Catelan, 
a troubador who was murdered on the spot by a band of 
assassins. He was carrying a box of scents for the King at 
the time of his death. The box was stolen from him, and 
the murderers were discovered by the perfumes which they 
had used. Close by is the Pre Catelan, prettily laid out as a 
garden. Concerts are given here several times a week. 

At the northeastern angle of the Bois is the Zoological 
Garden, which will be described further on. 

Omnibuses from the city pass the Bois at various points, 
and carriages and saddle-horses may be hired for a ride 
through it at moderate charges. The roads, alleys, and 
drives are generally filled with vehicles, equestrians and 
pedestrians in the afternoon. Saturday is the most fashion- 
able day, and in fair weather the Imperial carriage will be 
frequently seen dashing through these lovely drives, with its 
outriders and attendants. The park is larger, but not so 
beautiful as the Central of New York. A day may be well 
spent in it by any lover of rural beauty. 



252 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

II. 

THE CHAMPS ELYSfiES. 

Between the Place de la Concorde and tlie Arc de Triom'phe, 
is a broad avenue, bordered on each side for about half the 
distance, by a handsome park, ornamented with statues, foun- 
tains, and shrubbery. This is the most famous promenade in 
Paris — the Champs Elysees (Elysian Fields) — the beautiful 
rival of the Boulevards. The Avenue Gabriel forms the 
northern, and the Seine the southern boundary. The grounds 
originally extended to the Arc de Triomphe^ which still forms 
the terminus of the Avenue des Charapjs JElysees^ but since 1860, 
the portion above the Avenue Montaigne has been laid off in 
streets, and built up in a great measure. The main avenue, 
from the Arch of Triumph to the Obelisk of Luxor is 2,400 
yards, or nearly a mile and a half long. 

Originally these grounds were an open field, dotted in some 
places with cultivated patches and laborers' cottages. In 
1616, Marie de Medicis had the southern portion, which bor- 
ders the Seine (from the Place de la Concorde to the Bridge 
of the Alma), laid out and planted as a promenade for her 
own use. This triple avenae is still called Cours de la Beine. 
Later still, the whole field was planted with trees, and laid 
out with walks. It at once became a favorite place of resort 
for all classes, and received the proud name it still bears. 
In 1815 the allied armies bivouacked here, and greatly in- 
jured it by cutting down the trees and shrubbery. In 1860 
the lower part was laid off as a garden, and all the grounds 
have since then been highly embellished. 

The Avenue des Champs Elysees^ which is in reality a con- 
tinuation of the promenade formed by the main avenue of 
the Tuileries Gardens, rises in a continuous slope from the 




r"\ 'i;r:'i,i!!;i'iii;!ilJliilli 
253 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 255 

Place de la Concorde to the Arc de Triomphe. About half way 
between these two points, it is broken bj an ornamental cir- 
cle, in the centre of which stands a beautiful fountain. This 
is called the Rond Point. Several fine fountains, and a num- 
ber of statues are scattered through the gardens, and' the 
entrance from the Place de la Concorde is ornamented with 
two fine groups placed there bj order of the National Con- 
vention. The Palace of Industry occupies a large portion of 
the lower part of the grounds, and several concert-gardens, a 
circus, and some open-air theatres add to the attractions of 
the place. Prettily constructed booths, for amusement and 
refreshment, may be seen on all sides, and several puppet- 
shows draw crowds of children to them. 

The Champs Elysees are deserted in the morning, but 
towards three o'clock in the afternoon begin to fill up with 
carriages and promenaders. On fine afternoons, especially on 
Thursdays, whiiah is the fashionable day, the grand avenue 
is thronged with thousands of brilliant equipages, and pre- 
sents a scene unequalled in any other city in the world. At 
night the effect is truly brilliant and fascinating. 

During the Revolution and the Empire the Avenue Mon- 
taigne was known as the Allee des Veuves (Ihe Widow's 
Alley), because it was the favorite resort of widows and 
persons in deep mourning whom fashion prevented from 
appearing in the gay throng that swept along the main drive 
Madame Tallien lived here, and it was in her house that the 
young Corsican met the beautiful and accomplished Creole 
that his love exalted to the throne of France. 

The greatest display to be witnessed oh the Champis 
Elysees is in Passion Week, and is called the Promenade 
de Longchampis. It was the fashion in the palmy days of the 
old Monarchy, to attend vespers at the Abbey of Long- 
champs, in the Bois de Boulogne, during Passion Week. The 



256 PARTS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Abbey has disappeared, and its place is occupied by the hand- 
some villa of the Prefect of the Seine, but the custom of 
driving to the spot is still kept up. True, it has falKni olf 
somewhat, of late years, but it is still a sight worth witness- 
ing.- 

" We are in the last days of the holy week. Easter already 
throws its green palms in the forest. Passion Wednesday is 
not far off, and yet there is suddenly a strife as to which can 
show the richest ornaments, the newest dresses, the most 
magnificent harness, the most modern carriages. This day a 
trial is made of elegance, of luxury, of the toilette, of bril- 
liancy ; the promenade at once assumes a grave and imposing 
appearance. People are no longer there merely to exhibit 
themselves, but to be judged. At this moment, every lady 
trembles for her empire, every cavalier for his horse. She 
would fain be so beautiful ! He would fain appear so well 
mounted ! But the one and the other, in order that they 
may be better seen, go slowly ; they cross the crowd which 
looks at them ; and amongst that crowd, stand most atten- 
tively — for they play an important part in this affair — the 
milliner who has decorated the bonnets, the seamstress Avho 
has trimmed the stuff's, the coachmaker who has fitted up the 
carriages, the dealer who has sold the horses on credit. They 
see themselves pass in all their glory; they applaud them- 
selves; they admire their own work. For them, this day 
will decide the success of the next season ; it is a question of 
popularity or death. In fact, to succeed^ here is the wliole 
history of the men and women, the poets and artists, the 
orators and soldiers, the merchants and coquettes of the city 
of Paris !" 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 257 

III. 

THE PAEK OF MONCEAUX 

In leaving the Arc de Trio7n2)he, turn your face to the 
heast, and pass down the beautiful avenue of Queen Hor- 
se, and a ten-minutes' walk will bring you to the gates of 
oe prettiest little Park within the city limits. It is a mere 
doll's garden compared with the great Bois beyond, and not 
so crowded or so magnificent as the Champs Ely sees ; but it 
is prettier than either. It takes its name from the ancient 
village of Monceaux, or Mousseaux (a part of the site of 
which it occupies), and adjoins the former suburb of Mon- 
ceaux, now a portion of the city. Until the year 1778, it 
was a bleak and barren plain, but in that year the Due de 
Chai'tres, afterwards the Duke of Orleans {Plulvppe Egalite)^ 
enclosed it, and employed Carmontel to lay it out as an Eng- 
lish garden. Carmontel spared no expense; and indeed the 
task before him was one in which economy could not be 
practised. The garden had to be constructed entirely by art. 
The ground was arid as well as bare, and every drop of water 
needed for its ornamentation had to be carried there by arti- 
ficial means. The transformation which the artist affected 
was almost marvellous. Grottoes, fountains, mounds, cas- 
cades, smiling lawns, long, shady alleys, and flowers of every 
hue sprang up on all sides, as if by magic. The National 
Convention, by a special decree, devoted it to public amuse- 
ments. Napoleon I. presented it to Cambacerc^s, who, finding 
it too expensive, returned it to him. At the Eestoration it 
was restored to the Orleans family, who retained possession 
of it until 1852, when the present Emperor confiscated all 
their possessions in France. It had been used during the 

Republic of 1818, as the headquarters of the National Work- 
17 



258 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

shops cand after its confiscation became the property of the 
city of Paris, and was thrown open to the public as a prom- 
enade. 

The grounds are beautifully laid out. Two broad avenues 
for carriages cross it in opposite directions, intersecting each 
other at right angles, and several alleys diverge from them. 
An artificial lake and several fountains add to the beauty of 
the place. It is a favorite resort with lovers of quiet and 
rural enjoyment, and being situated in one of the best quar- 
ters of the city, is much sought by ladies, and by children 
with their nurses. Though in the heart of a busy, populous 
section, it is as quiet as if Paris were a score of miles away. 

While Louis Philippe was king he still retained the pro- 
prietorship of the park, Avhich was a great favorite with him, 
and came here more frequently than to any other place. lie 
had placed in charge of it, one of those old gardeners that 
belonged to a race now extinct, an old grumbler who cared 
for nothing but his plants. Pere Schoene (for that was his 
name) did not hesitate to speak his mind before the King, 
and it often happened that His Majesty yielded to him and 
allowed him to carry his point. Schoene had concentrated 
all his affections upon three objects — the King, his short pipe, 
and his plants. Louis Philippe detested tobacco, and often 
reproved the old man for the use of it. Pere Schoene's pipe 
never left his mouth, however, no matter in whose presence 
he stood. " Come, now !" said the King to him one day, "I 
can pardon your smoking before me, but how dare you smoke 
in the presence of the Queen and the Princesses?" ''Sire," 
replied the old man, stoutly, ''the habit is stronger than I 
am. If your Majesty is displeased with my conduct, you can 
pay my bill and let me go. I should die, no doubt, with 
mortification ; but it would be with my pipe between my 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 261 

teeth." The King's features relaxed into a smile, and the old 
fellow was pardoned. 

A number of exotics stand in the gardens, some of them 
very fine specimens. The greatest care is taken in keeping 
the place in order, and enthusiasts in ornamental gardening 
cannot do better than watch the system practiced here. 



lY. 

THE BUTTBS CHAUMONT. 

Between Belleville and La Villette, in the northeastern 
part of Paris, the city authorities have constructed a handsome 
park, which will, in time, compare favorably with any of the 
pleasure grounds. It is known as the park of the Buttes 
Chaumont, from the tall peaks or Buttes^ which rise out of 
the centre of the lake. The park is in the form of a curvi- 
linear triangle, being between the Rue de Crimee^ and two 
curved boulevards now in process of construction. It covers 
an area of about fiftj^-five acres. 

Previous to 1860, this was one of the plague spots of the 
city. It was an immense gypsum quarry, which had been 
worked for long ages, and was one of the most remarkable 
excavations around Paris. It was useless for every other 
purpose. Nothing would grow in such soil, and the cuttings 
were generally full of stagnant water which poisoned the sur- 
rounding atmosphere with its foul exhalations. Besides this 
it was the haunt of thieves and assassins. Eespectable people 
avoided it, and it was detested by all classes. Property in its 
vicinity was almost worthless, and until the year mentioned 
above, it seemed that nothing could be done to remedy the 
evil. 

In 1860, however, the government, acting in concert with 



262 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

the city, determined to take the matter in hand, and convert 
the foul spot into an ornament to the capital. The Parisians 
smiled incredulously at the scheme, and pronounced it 
"another waste of the people's money." Work was begun, 
however, and carried forward energetically. About a thou- 
sand laborers and a hundred horses were employed in the 
undertaking. First, the bed of gypsum was laid off in accord- 
ance with the plans decided upon. The lake beds were dug, 
caves were cut and blasted, and the rough rocks hewn into 
the most picturesque shapes. So neatly has all this been done 
that it is almost impossible for an observer to tell where nature 
ends and art begins. A bed of hard clay, mixed with marl 
and loam was then formed over the gypsum, and upon this 
was thrown about 200,000 cubic metres of vegetable earth, 
manure, etc., brought here in carts. Trees and shrubbery 
were then planted, lawns were laid off, and drives formed. 
Water was let into the lakes from the reservoir of Menilmon- 
tant, and fountains and statues erected. The park was entirely 
finished by 1867. The trees are now growing finely, the 
shrubbery and flowers are thriving beyond all chance of fail- 
ure, and the experiment at which Paris first laughed so mock- 
ingly is a triumphant success. 

In the centre of the lake stands a tall peak, ornamented 
with a copy in miniature of the Temple of the Sybil at Tivoli. 
A suspension bridge connects it with the shore, and a fine 
view of the grounds and the neighboring quarters of the city 
may be obtained from it. The grounds are already popular 
with the people of the quarter. The working classes throng 
here in their leisure hours, and call it their Bois. 




263 



PARIS BY SUXLIGIIT AND GASLIGHT. 265 

Y. 

THE BOIS DE VINCENNES. 

The Bois de Vincennes is the oldest park in France, and 
was originally a Gaulish forest. It lies on the north side of 
the Seine and Marne, just beyond the southeastern walls of 
Paris. It covers an area of 2,515 acres, and is handsomely 
laid out and ornamented. 

Louis A^II. built a wall on the side next the city, and 
erected the old tower of Saint-Mande as a guard-house. In 
1183, Philip Augustus continued the enclosure, and stocked 
the grounds with deer sent him by Henry II. of England. 
Later still. Saint Louis built the walls which border the 
Marne. The present enclosure, however, dates from 1671. 
Louis XY., in 1731, replanted the wood, and made numerous 
improvements in it, in order that it might form a pleasant 
promenade for the people of Paris. Other changes were 
made in it during tlie Empire and tbe Eestoration, and in 
1857 it was laid off as it stands at present, under the orders 
of the Emperor Napoleon III. 

The forest now consists of two portions divided by an open 
space. This open space is occupied b}^ a race course, a field 
for the manoeuvres of bodies of infantry, a polygon for artil- 
lery practice, a rifle gallery, and a model farm, called the 
Ferme NapoUon. The farm lies in the southeastern ])art of 
the grounds, and is just inside of the military road and the 
Gravelle and La Faisanderie Edoutes. Beyond it is the race 
course, and above that is the field for infantry manoeuvres, in 
the midst of which stands a pyramid erected by Louis XYI. 
West of this is the polygon for artillery practice, and at the 
northern extremity of the whole field are the rifle gallery and 
the castle and fort of Yincennes. To the left of the fort is 



266 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

the pretty villa of the officer commanding the post, who is 
Lisuallj a general or a Marshal of France. Just above the 
race course is an immense circular drive, in the centre of 
which is the Lac des Minimes, covering an area of twenty acres, 
and containing three pretty islands. The smallest island is 
provided with a Swiss chalet, which is used as a restaurant, 
and is connected with the shore by a bridge. Near the Redoute 
de Oravelle is a large basin called Gravelle Lake,, which is 
connected with Lake Saint-Mande, in the northwestern ex- 
tremity, by an artificial inver three miles long. The latter 
lake is beautifully situated in a hollow, and forms one of the 
prettiest parts of the park. In the centre is a small island. 
Near the Porie Picpus is a large lake, containing two islands. 
The grounds are handsome, but are not equal to the Bois 
de Boulogne^ and are not as popular with the Parisians. One 
sees more visitors, more pleasure seekers at the latter place 
in an hour than in this park in an afternoon. Yet it is a great 
addition to the city, for it brings a pleasant place of resort 
within easy reach of the quarters which are too distant from 
the other parks to allow many visits to them. 



XVIII. 

'adyenturers. 

Paris is the Paradise of adventurers. They flock here 
from all parts of the world in the hope of reaping a rich har- 
vest, and the majority end by eking out a miserable existence 
in a manner which even the police, who watch them so closely, 
cannot understand. Others again, make a good use of their 
abilities, and mount up high in position and wealth. I do 
not mean to include in these remarks that large class known 
as Bohemians^ for I shall speak of them separately hereafter, 
but refer exclusively to those professional adventurers, or 
" sharpers," (for I know of no other terms which describe 
them,) who live by their wits. 

One cannot mingle much in society here, without meeting 
some dark, bearded, mysterious-looking being, tolerated for 
the sake of his many accomplishments, but suspected by all 
who know him. You will be told that he is an exile from 
his own country — a beaten leader of some great political 
party who is scheming now for the final triumph of his cause. 
His most intimate friends know nothing of his affairs. It is 
necessary for him to keep them secret, they will tell you, in 
explanation of their ignorance, and he is too wise, too much 
of a statesman to commit himself or his cause by injudicious 
confidences. Besides, the Imperial Government is not partial 
to conspirators, and he must do nothing and say nothing cal- 
culated to compromise himself You may believe all this, 
or, influenced, perhaps, by your American way of viewing 

269 



4 

270 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

things, doubt it, and stamp the object of so mucli interest as 
an impostor. Certainly his airs and self-importance are not 
calculated to raise him in your esteem. To you he will most 
probably seem simply ridiculous, but to the French, his mys- 
terious conduct is irresistibly fascinating. Conspirators by 
nature, they like nothing so well as intrigue. In short, they 
exalt these exiles into heroes, and insensibly allow them 
(I speak of individuals, not of the nation) to gain an influence 
over them against which their better judgment struggles in 
vain. This much accomplished, the exile grows a little more 
confidential to his very particular fi'iends, slight loans are 
asked and the request is repeated. The exile finally disap- 
pears, and his friends, on comparing notes, find they have 
been victimized. Women are most commonly the victims 
of these scamps, but it not unfrequently happens that they 
caich the sterner and more suspicious sex in their toils. 

Women form a large part of the adventurer class. Like 
the men, they represent every nationality. How they get 
into good society is a mystery which few can explain, but it 
is certain that you will find them there. They rarely molest 
their own sex, but fasten themselves upon the lords of crea- 
tion. Your Frenchman is powerless to resist the temptations 
of an intrigue, and before he recovers his senses he is so com- 
pletely in the hands of his ensnarer that he can only escape 
by the payment of a good round sum. 

Again you will meet some yellow-faced, wrinkled old 
woman at almost every entertainment to which you are in- 
vited, watching like a hawk over some pretty, innocent-look- 
ing young girl. You will be told that she is the Marchioness 
this, or the Countess that, the widow of some foreign noble- 
man. She is said to be immensely wealthy, but a perfect old 
miser. The young girl is her daughter or grand-daughter, 
as the case may be, and will one day inherit lier wealth. At 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 271 

pi'esent, however, the old woman will spend nothing upon 
lier. Your attention is thus drawn to the pretty creature, 
and you watch her closely. She sees this, perhaps, and a 
modest blush dyes her cheek and her eyes droop. Nothing- 
could be more maidenly or proper than her demeanor. AVith 
what pretty reserve she receives the compliments of that rich 
young banker who is addressing her, and how grimly the old 
dragon watches over her. When he solicits permission to 
pay his respects to her at her own residence, how girlishly 
she hesitates and glances at the old lad3^ The dragon now 
comes to the rescue, and reminds Monsieur that her dear 
child is very young and utterly unused to the ways of the 
world. She has never had the pleasure of meeting Monsieur 
before — but — if he will be so good as to call to-morrow. 
Mademoiselle may see him. He calls the next day, and the 
intimacy begins. 

Now, my dear friend, this old dragon may or may not be 
a woman of rank, but it is certain she is neither rich nor a 
miser. She is miserably poor, and the lodgings in which 
she will receive Monsieur, the banker, are hired for the 
occasion. That young girl, so fresh and pretty, is old in the 
ways of the world, for since her early childhood she has 
lived by her wits. Madame, her mother, has taught her 
many a lesson of this kind, and has made a capital actress of 
her. Both want money, and both are determined to have it, 
and Mademoiselle finding that Monsieur, the banker, has 
nibbled in all sincerity at the bait she has thrown out, will 
play with him with the profoundest caution, and then she 
will haul him on her hook. She will do nothing rash, and 
when she has him in her power will make him feel it. Per- 
haps she will lead him into a marriage before he recovers his 
senses, or perhaps the spell will be broken before she can 
succeed in this. At all events, her main object will be ac- 



272 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

complished. She will have placed him in such an unpleasant 
position that he will be glad to escape at the cost of a few 
thousand francs. In case he marries her, Madame, her mo- 
ther, will not be long in throwing off her disguise, and will 
claim her share of the profits of the transaction; or, perhaps, 
the young wife herself, unable to keep up the sham now, will 
show Monsieur, the banker, in a thousand different ways, 
what a fool he has made of himself. Mofisieur will find 
that his wife is not the novice he supposed her; that those 
dove-like eyes are not so gentle now as before he gave her his 
name ; that the lips he found so sweet in the moments of his 
passion are not so pure now as he deemed them then. Worst 
of all, he may find that while his young wife's hand is his, 
her heart is given to another who had claimed it long before 
he ever knew her, and who may, after all, be a partj^ to the 
fraud of which he has been the victim. These are unpleasant 
discoveries, and I know that in romance they would lead to 
direful consequences. But romance is one thing and reality 
another, especially in France, and I am writing of reality in 
that country. Monsieur, the banker, is a philosopher, and 
he neither storms, nor tears his hair, nor shoots his wife, nor 
cuts her lover in pieces. His chief care is to keep the matter 
quiet. To publish it would be to make himself ridiculous, 
and your Frenchman dreads ridicule worse than death. He 
quietly informs Madame that their intercourse as man and 
wife is at an end, and an agreement is made for a separation, 
perhaps a divorce, upon some fictitious ground. Madame 
leceives a handsome allowance, the parties separate, and in 
a little while the affair ceases to be tall'Ced of, and is forgotten. 
It would be impossible to even mention all the forms which 
imposture assumes in the upper walks of social life. To do 
so would require a larger volume than I intend offering to 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 273 

the reader. I can only mention a few of the instances which 
occur to me, and then pass down the social scale. 

I once heard of an English cockney who had come upon 
the Continent to enjoy his money. He had a young wife, 
and was en route for Italy. Madame was utterly ignorant of 
the language of love and poetry, and prevailed upon her 
liege lord to allow her to employ an Italian master v/hile in 
Paris. A master was soon procured, a bearded, long haired, 
lank, and unkempt individual, a count, and a political exile 
of course. There was a shrewd look about the fellow, which 
the still shrewder cockney did not like, but Madame was 
charmed with him. According to the master's accounts she 
improved rapidly. Her exercises were written at his dicta- 
tion in the purest Italian, and as regularly carried away by 
him, in order, he said, that he might show some of his stupid 
pupils what a woman of talent could do. A month passed 
by, the worthy couple began to prepare for their journey over 
the Alps, and the Signer was informed that his services could 
be dispensed with. That was all very well, replied the noble 
exile, but he was not to be thrown off so easily. Madame 
had done him the honor to bestow her affections upon him, 
and he was not willing to let her off without some compen- 
sation for the loss of her love. This compensation he modestly 
fixed at the sum of ten thousand francs. He had proofs, he 
said, at least a dozen letters in Madame's own handwriting. 
Cockney was horrified, and indignantly demanded to see the 
letters. He should see them, said the Signor, if he would 
pledge his honor not to destroy them. The pledge was given, 
the letters were produced, and Cockney was confounded. The 
writing was indeed that of the wife of his bosom, and the 
letters, according to the Signor's translation of them, were 
more passionate and tender than any she had ever addressed 
to him. Trembling with rage and grief he summoned the 
18 



274 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

fair delinquent, and charged her with her fault, which she 
indignantly denied, and demanded to see the letters. The 
Signer coolly held them before her, and she at once pro- 
claimed them the exercises she had written at his dictation. Of 
course her husband could no longer doubt her innocence, and 
the Italian did not attempt to deny it. He confessed the plot, 
but demanded ten thousand francs for the exercises, and 
threatened to show them publicly in the social circles in 
which Cockney had moved, and even to send them to the 
friends of his victims in England. It was a most unfortunate 
as well as an infamous complication. Cockney was perfectly 
convinced of his wife's innocence, but knew also that to make 
the so called letters public would damage her as much as if 
they were genuine. The result was a compromise, and Cock- 
ney paid five thousand francs for the letters. The documents 
once in his possession, he seized the Italian by the collar and 
kicked him into the street. The Signor complained to the 
police. Cockney was arrested, and being unwilling to state 
the cause of his quarrel with the wretch, was fined roundly 
for his assault, and only saved from a week's imprisonment by 
the interposition of influential friends. 

Spiritualists, bogus inventors, and the like, are " thick as 
hops " in Paris, and the manner in which they succeed in 
getting the better classes into their toils, may be seen from 
the following account of a suit recently tried in one of the 
French courts. 

" The long pending case of Princess Isabeau de Beauvau 
Craon," says a letter written from Paris, " has come to a close * 
and it is so long since the last hearing that I am afraid I must 
refresh the reader's memor}', and tell him what it was all 
about. The suit was brought by Princess de Beauvau, who 
petitioned the Civil Tribunal of the Seine to ' interdict ' Prin- 
cess Isabeau, her daughter, or, in plain English, to declare her 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 275 

non comioos mentis^ *aud deprive her of all control over her 
property (which is very large.) The petitioner set forth that 
her daughter, who had at first been only a little eccentric, 
gradually grew more so, allowed herself to be influenced by 
quacks, spirit-rapping adventurers, etc. First, she took to 
patronizing a charlatan named Dhelle, who pretended he had 
invented an electric fluid for bathing and washing. Princess 
Isabeau was so much struck with this brilliant discovery that 
she lent him large sums of money for the purpose of ' carry- 
ing on experiments.' All the plate in a country house at 
Garches, near St. Cloud, which belonged to the petitioner, but 
which she allowed her daughter, the defendant, to occupy, 
suddenly disappeared. It was discovered that it had been 
pawned by another of the Princess Isabeau's proteges^ an 
homceopathist. The petitioner had at various times remon- 
strated with her daughter as to the absurdity and folly of her 
behavior, but to no purpose, and things were going on in this 
uncomfortable way, when the petitioner was startled, just 
about a year ago, at receiving the following note : 

" ' June, 29, 1868. 

" ' Madame La Princesse : 

*' ' I went to Garches on Sunday afternoon, and found my 
dear Isabeau so very ill that I induced her to leave, though she 
objected, under pretext that she did not like parting with hei 
horses. In order to pacify her, and above all, to make her 
come with me, I gave orders that the horses should be 
brought away too. On our return from the seaside I shall 
have the pleasure of calling on you with my brother, Baron 
Lucius de Guldenstubbe. But meanwhile I must let you 
know something about our family. Under King Charles V., 
called the Wise, a period at which a number of German Bohe- 
mian gentlemen were mixed up with French affairs, one Max 



276 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Augustus de Guldenstubbe served with distinction in Nor- 
mandy under Duguesclin. This nobleman married Louisa, 
of Hapsburg, fifth grand-daughter of the Emperor Rudolph. 
One of the children born of that marriage in 1340, Augusta 
Mathilde de Guldenstubbe, married Margrave Jacob of Nu- 
remberg, from whom as you sprang the Hohenzollerns — the 
ancestors of the Kings of Prussia. 
' Receive, etc., 

' Baeoness Julie De Guldenstubbe.' 

" The surprise and indignation of the petitioner at receiv- 
ing this note may be imagined. She went down to Garches, 
and heard that a tall, lanky old man and a hideous looking 
little hag, also very old, had come a few days before with a 
large van, and carried off Princess Isabeau and a quantity of 
furniture. These were the Guldenstubbes, the allies of the 
"Hapsburgs, Hohenzollerns, etc. They had omitted to leave 
their address, but the petitioner discovered that they lived in 
the Rue de Trevise, and were spirit-rapping adventurers. 
Considerable amusement was caused in court by the descrip- 
tion of their practices. The ' Baron ' has published a book 
about spirits and spirit-rapping, which he entitles ' Experi- 
mental Pneumatology.' He locks up a piece of paper in a 
box, and calls on the spirit of Csesar, Hippocrates, etc, to 
favor him with their autographs. A rapping is heard, the box 
is opened, and the paper inside is found marked with a scrawl 
which the baron readily deciphers. Among the ' autographs ' 
thus obtained, and of which he gives fac similies in his books, 
there is one of the ' muse Polyhymnia.' The signature of 
Hippocrates is recommended by the baron as a sovereign cure 
for bronchitis. Well, the petitioner tried hard to get her 
daughter out of the clutclies of these adventurers. One of 
the friends of the Beauvau family. Count de Mejffray, very 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 277 

ingeniously penetrated into their den, and saw Princess Tsa- 
beau in a dirty, narrow, filthy room, and tried hard to persuade 
her to come home. She was very incoherent, cried a good 
deal, said she had taken a fearful oath, and the count was 
about to carry her off bodily, when the baron made his ap- 
pearance, flanked by a sergent de ville, who forthwith turned 
tlie count out. The petitioner's son, the defendant's brother, 
made another attempt to rescue his sister from the clutches 
of these spirit vampires, but it proved ineffectual. There 
was a violent scene, and on his getting out of his cab, on his 
return from the interview, a pistol he had taken with him, 
probabl}'' to frighten the Guldenstubbes, accidentally went off, 
and killed him on the spot. Within about three weeks of her 
brother's tragic end, Princess Isabeau wrote to the various 
members of her family that she was about to marry Baron 
de Guldenstubbe. To prevent such a disaster the petitioner 
and all the members of the family took the requisite steps to 
have the Princess Isabeau protected against herself, and a 
long course of litigation was commenced. Meanwhile Prin- 
cess Isabeau ran away, first to London and then to Belgium ; 
but she defended each successive stage of the proceedings by 
letter and by counsel. 

" At the last hearing she resolved on a bolder course. She 
appeared in court and defended herself in person, replying to 
a crushing speech of her mother's counsel. Her lady-like 
appearance, perfect composure, and self-possession produced 
great impression, and her speech was a very good one. On 
her rising, the President, with that curious disregard of fair 
play and common courtesy, which characterizes some French 
judges, of whom it is not too much to say that they are not 
an ornament to the bench, touchingly told her to " express 
herself in becoming terms." The Princess replied that she 
thought that remark might have been spared her, and that 



278 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

she would not forget that her mother was her opponent. She 
admitted that she had run away, but simply because she 
knew that her family would have had her locked up as 
insane had she not done so. She then went on to ai'gue very 
temperately that if a taste for supernatural sciences were a 
proof of insanity then some of the highest in the land were 
insane. She set forth that the ground of the misunderstand- 
ing between her mother and herself was exclusively pecuni- 
ary, and related to the inheritance left by her father; and 
wound up her speech by asking the Court, now that they had 
heard and seen her, whether they believed this trumped-up 
charge of insanity. The Crown Advocate took up a whole 
day to state his opinion on the case. He held that the defend- 
ant was of sound mind, and urged that the petition be 
dismissed. The Court, however, took a middle course ; it 
rejected the petition, holding that the state of mind of the 
defendant was not such as to justify interdiction, but, con- 
sidering that the Princess had a tendency to be extravagant 
in money matters, appointed a conseil judiciaire, or curator, 
and adjudged her mother to pay her alimony at the rate of 
2,000 francs per month." 

Another class of adventurers are those who hang around 
the cafes, and make their living by insinuating themselves 
into the good graces of strangers and young men. They are 
perfect at dominoes, billiards, and all the games a gentleman 
is supposed to know. Sometimes they play for money, but 
most generally for refreshments, and are always moderate in 
their ventures. They are the pleasantest fellows in the world, 
are well dressed, and have irreproachable manners. Their 
wit is brilliant, and their fund of anecdote inexhaustible. 
In a little while they become wonderfully intimate with their 
new acquaintances. They accept invitations to dinner, or 
to breakfast, or to the theatre, and if, in the excess of j'-our 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 279 

generosity, you offer tliem some trifling present, such as a 
man of honor may accept, they will not refuse it. They 
manage to be always with you, and yet do everything with 
such discretion and such ease that they never bore you. 
Finally, they lead you into small games at cards at " a friend's 
house," and the result is that you are fleeced of your money, 
for a "square game" is unknown to them, and you must be 
unusually expert to detect their tricks. These men rarely 
trouble their own countrymen, but find their victims amongst 
the strangers who visit the city. They regard the English 
and Americans as their legitimate prey. If you care nothing 
for play, they have a dozen other resources at hand to drain 
money from you. Sometimes they do not hesitate to resort 
to downright robbery or murder. 

Another class frequent the hotels, and haunt the Boule- 
vards and other places where strangers are thickest. They 
are well-dressed, gentlemanly-looking fellows, and speak 
English like natives. They approach strangers with unblush- 
ing impudence, and offer their services as guides. If accepted, 
they are not long in proposing to initiate their new acquaint- 
ance into the mysteries of Parisian life. They do not ask 
you to miiigl<^ in the scenes to which they wish to lead you, 
but merely to come and look en as a curious observer. These 
fellows are either the paid runners of notorious Lorettes, or 
of gamblers, or are seeking to do a little business on their 
own account by drawing you away into sections of the city 
where you will be at their mercy. 

The best, and indeed the only safe rule is to avoid making 
acquaintances in public places. Gentlemen and honest men 
are, as a general thing, reserved and cautious in offering their 
friendship to strangers, and those who do not observe this 
course are almost sure to be influenced by bad motives. 

It is amusing to see how utterly unsuspicious Englishmen 



280 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

and Americans become in Paris. Thej are shrewd and 
knowing in their own countries, and to deceive them at home 
would be an impossibility ; but when they reach this city 
they seem to lay aside their caution, and to enter with per- 
fect readiness into every trap set for them. They seem to 
think the Parisians a harmless, simple set of people, when in 
reality they are the shrewdest and most cunning of men and 
women. They would not think of introducing their mere 
street acquaintance into their families or amongst their inti- 
mate friends at home ; but accept at once the offers made 
them by unknown individuals at cafes, of introductions to 
circles of fashion and refinement, forgetting that the entree to 
society is quite as difl&cult here as in their own country. 
Their forgetfulness is of short duration, however, for they 
are soon reminded of their fault by bitter experience. If 
they would only remember that the fundamental rules of 
social intercourse are the same in all countries, they would 
save themselves much trouble. 




ID 



'e^^l'SiSI m 






282 



XIX. 
THE HOTEL DE TILLE. 

At a very early period the municipality of Paris became 
conscious of its power and importance, and it was not long- 
before the chief officer of the city, who was known as the 
Prevot des Marchands (Provost of the Merchants), acquired 
both the dignity and influence to which his position en- 
titled him. He was, by virtue of his office, the head of 
the Council of Merchants which traced its origin back to the 
days of the Romans, and' which became, in the Thirteenth 
Century, the Munici2:)al Corps, and had its privileges con- 
firmed by royal ordinance. This body first held its meetings 
in a house on the Quai de la Megisserie, in the vicinity of the 
Grand Chdielet, and subsequently in a house which stood on 
the site of the present Place du Ghdtelet. Later still, . the 
meetings were held on the opposite side of the river, near the 
Porte Saint- Michel. Feeling the necessity for some fixed 
place for the city Government, £tienne Marcel, the famous 
Mayor of Paris, bought a house situated on the Place de 
Gr^vCj and called the House of Pillars {liaison aux Piliers), 
from the row of massive pillars which adorned the front and 
supported the first floor. It was sometimes known as the 
Dauphin's House, because Charles V. had lived there whilst 
he was dauphin. This was the commencement of the present 
Hotel de Yille. 

In 1529, the House of Pillars was found unsuited to the 
necessities of the municipality, and was pulled down, and on 

283 



284 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

the 15th July, 1533, the first stone of the present edifice was 
laid. It was not completed, however, until 1605, during the 
reign of Henry IV. It was considered a splendid establish- 
ment at the time, but was so far from supplying the wants of 
the city in the Eighteenth century, that in 1770 it was pro- 
posed to abandon it and build a larger town-hall on the south 
side of the Seine just below the Pont Neuf. This plan was 
not carried out. 

The present splendid structure was erected principally 
during the reign of Louis Philippe. The old building was 
found to be too small and too common for the uses demanded 
of it, and it was resolved to enlarge it. The work was begun 
in 1837, and finished in 1841. The old building, which com- 
prises the centre of the front of the present edifice and the 
court back of it, was allowed to remain, but was very nauch 
improved. The houses and church'es that surrounded it, from 
the river to the present Ruq de Bivoli^ and from the Place de 
V Hotel de Ville to the rear of the present edifice, were swept 
away, and the hall enlarged to its existing dimensions. 

It is at present one of the handsomest buildings in Europe. 
It forms an immense quadrangle about three hundred feet 
long by about two hundred and fifty feet deep, and has three 
fine courts in the style of the Eenaissance. Its principal 
front is towards the west, and is massive and handsomely 
ornamented ; the central portion and the two pavilions with 
pointed roofs which flank it, constitute the front of the origi- 
nal pile. The buildings and pavilions at the north and south 
corners were erected during Louis Philippe's reign. The 
fagade on the Place Lobau^ which forms the rear of the Hotel, 
and the lateral galleries connecting it with the western front, 
■ date from the same period. 

Two immense archways, used upon state occasions, lead 
from the street to the courts, but the principal entrance is by 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 285 

the doorway iu the centre, under the statue of Henry IV., 
which adorns this part of the building. Over the statue is 
an illuminated clock, and above that still an eight-sided bell 
tower. The building is two stories and an attic high, and 
is surrounded by niches containing statues of the great men 
of France, who have been famous in the history of the 
city, from the earliest times down to Lafayette. It is said 
that there are several hundred statues in and about the 
building. 

Entering by the gateway under the statue of Henry lY., 
the visitor finds himself in a splendid court, which formed a 
part of the old building, but which has been covered with a 
glass roof under the present empire. It is handsomely paved, 
and is decorated with colored marbles. A statue of Louis 
XIV., as a Eoman warrior, and one of Charlemagne stand 
in the court. Just opposite the entrance is a fine stairway, 
consisting of two flights, ornamented with fountains. It was 
built for the reception of Queen Victoria, at the time of her 
first visit to Paris, and leads to the apartments of State. 

"There are two suites of State apartments: the first and 
oldest on the lower floor, and inhabited by the Prefect, are 
not generally shown ; they are in the primitive building, and 
contain the Salle du Trone^ ninety-five feet long ; the chimney 
pieces at each end are of the time of Henry IV. This room 
is magnificently decorated, and is used for State banquets, 
and will hold two hundred guests. On the walls are allegori- 
cal paintings intended to represent Paris at different epochs 
from the fifth century. Here was the Cabinet Vert, so called 
from its green draperies, where Eobespierre, Couthon, and 
St. Just were arrested on the 5th Thermidor, in the year 5. 
From its window Louis XVI., in a bonnet rouge, appeared 
before the mob, and from it La:fayette presented Louis Philippe 
to the people in 1830. On the landing place leading to this 



28 G PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

hall, Eobespierre and his associates attempted suicide. In 
the adjoining Salle de Zodiaque are wainscotings by Jean 
Goujon. In one of the rooms called Salle Victoria are busts 
of the Queen and Prince Albert, presented by them to the 
city of Paris after a magnificent ball given in their honor by 
the city on the 25th August, 1855. 

" The rooms which are shown were decorated in the reign 
of Louis Philippe, so as to make them perhaps the most gor- 
geous apartments in gorgeous Paris, towards which painting, 
gilding, carving, glass, and velvet have done their utmost. 
They are entered by a passage from Escalier A, in Great 
Court on the right. The first two rooms offer nothing very 
remarkable. In the second one are seen the marks of two 
balls fired in 1848. The third is most splendid, the Salon des 
Arcades, seventy-one feet long, and divided into compartments 
by magnificent gilt arches; the ceilings are covered with 
modern allegorical paintings of the sciences, and the walls 
with arabesques. The chandeliers and vases are magnificent. 
Beyond this is the large naked dining hall, leading to the 
Salle de Napoleon I., which contains his portrait by Gerard, 
and on the vault a large painting of his apotheosis by Ingres. 
From here opens the Galerie des Fetes, a vast ball-room, occu- 
pying nearly the whole eastern length of the building, hav- 
ing at each extremity ante-rooms called the Sallesr des Prevois, 
opening on the grand staircase, in which are relief busts of 
the Pr^vots des Marchands or Mayors of Paris, from 1205 
to 1705, and forming a kind of cornice. The great gallery is 
magnificently painted and furnished, surrounded by gilt 
Corinthian columns, and lighted by chandeliers which con- 
tain nearly 3,000 wax-lights. At each extremity are the 
music galleries. The whole suite is upwards of 1,000 yards 
in length, and is lighted and thrown open to some 7,000 
guests, at the balls given by the Prefect. A certain number 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 287 

of tickets for these balls are sent to the different ambassadors 
through whom strangers may obtain admission." 

The Hotel de Yille is the official residence of the Mayor of 
Paris, or Prefect of the Seine, as he has been styled since 
1789. It may be seen on certain days of the week by apply- 
ing to the Prefect for tickets of admission, which are usually 
granted without hesitation. In addition to the State apart- 
ments, it contains the rooms of the Prefect, which occupy the 
side facing the river, four hundred offices for the clerks con- 
nected with the municipal government, magnificent apart- 
ments, for the sessions of the Council, and a library contain- 
ing 70,000 volumes. This collection is particularly rich in 
documents relating to the history of Paris, and in works con- 
cerning the towns and cities of France. 

There are few buildings more interesting in an historical 
point of view, for its history is almost that of the city of Paris. 
It was the central point of the emeute of the Maillotins, in 
1358 ; and in 1606 was resplendent with the fetes which wel- 
comed Henry IV. to his capital; and during the troubles of 
the Fronde was one of the most important points of the city. 
In 1660, Louis XIV. was married here to Maria Theresa, and 
in 1759 it witnessed the marriage of the daughter of Louis 
XV. to the Duke of Parma. In 1765, the Dauphin was 
married here. It was not until after the capture of the 
Bastille, however, that the Hotel de Ville achieved its great- 
est notoriety. The leaders of the populace at once established 
themselves here, and three days later Louis XVI. was forced 
to show himself at the central window of the great hall, wear- 
ing the bonnet rouge. It was here that the terrible Commune 
de Paris (Common Council of Paris) held its sittings, and 
here it was that Robespierre and his friends took refuge on 
the 27th of July, 1794. "When the gendarmes and soldiers 
entered the building, he was found on the landing place of the 



288 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

great hall with his face half blown away from an ineffectual 
attempt at suicide. During the Eevolution of 1830, the Or- 
leanist clique established themselves here, and it was from 
the central window that Lafayette presented the trembling 
Louis Philippe to the populace as the " citizen King," In 
1848, the E.ed Republicans established their headquarters 
here, but the moderate Republicans managed to make their 
way into another portion of the building, and finally got 
possession of the government. Lamartine made his great ■ 
speech from the principal stairway, and by his eloquence 
slaved the country from anarchy. Troops were quartered in 
the building in 1848 and 1849, and some slight damage was 
done to it. In 1867, a number of magnificent fetes were 
given to the sovereigns attending the great Exposition. A 
lady who was present gives the following account of the 
" Ball of the Sovereigns," which took place on the 6th of 
July, 1867 : 

" To the event of the 6th at the Hotel de Ville, then, with- 
out further preface or promise, except the insertion of a copy 
of the municipal invitations of the season, and the instruc- 
tions as to dress for gentlemen, accompanying ; not issued for 
this special occasion, it is true, but supplying some idea of the 
strict though unpretending form used in such instances : 



LE SENATEUR, PREFET DE LA SEINE 
au nom du Corps Municipal de Paris, 
a V honneur d' inviter 

MADAME 

ci Id, Fete qui aura lieu 

d. V H6tel de Ville 
le Samedi C Juillet 1867, (t 9 hcures. 
Ce Billet, rigoreusement pen^onnel, aura etre remis atix 
huissiers charge d' annoncer. 



Arms of 
Paius. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 289 

II. 



Lews Majestes V Empereur et I' Imperatrice et les Soxtverains Strangers 
alors h Paris devant Jionorer la Fete de la Ville de leu?- presence, le Corps 
Municipal sera en grand uniforme avec la cnlotte blanche. 

Les Invites sont pries devoidoir Men etre ^galement en uniforme, ou, hdefaut 
de costume officiel, enfrac avec la culotte courte ou le pantalon collant. 



''Neitlier you Dor most of your readers need be told that 
fhe ' City Hall ' of Paris is almost or quite the equal of the 
Tuileries and the Louvre in its architecture, and that it has a 
history quite as extensive and interesting as either ; but some 
need to be told that there are apartments in the Hotel de Yille 
more richly decorated and showing the evidence of a costlier 
taste from floor to ceiling, than any of the other palaces of 
France ! Yet so it is. Here, as sometimes it used to be in 
London, the ' City ' occasionally asserts itself, and shows that 
when it will it can come near to overtopping the 'State' — 
the civic above the national — money above the political 
sinews which it strengthens if it does not create them. 

" There was even more rarity in the ball at the Hotel de 
Ville than in the grandest at the Tuileries. For the Imperial 
palace is often ablaze, and in the * season ' so many fetes are 
given, that gaities there seem to be things of course. But it 
is different at the civic palace. It has not before been entirely 
opened for any festivity, since Queen Victoria and Prince 
Albert were entertained there, ten or fifteen years ago — I do 
not remember how many ; and I suppose that nothing less 
than a congress of sovereigns, like that which has lately 
seemed in perpetual session in Paris, could again have brought 
the pet palace of the city into entire requisition. For, apart 
from the costly splendor, it is no trifle of space that is sur- 
rendered to festivity when the Hotel de Ville is given up to 

it — they say the salons, placed in a line, would extend some- 
19 



290 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

thing like fifteen hundred yards or little less than a mile ! 
They tell me, too, in spite of my woman's horror of any other 
'figures' than those of beauty or a cotillon — that the Grand 
Hall is nearly two hundred feet in length by half that distance 
in width, and that very few less than one hundred thousand 
wax lights are necessary to bring out all the rooms of the 
immense building in their full glory ! You can imagine that 
they must be ' occasions,' indeed, on which this space is occu- 
pied, and all this outlay in chandlery justified ! But justified 
they were, then, if ever ; for did not the number of regular 
invitations reach' beyond six thousand ? — -and are there not 
plenty who believe that the number present, beside a perfect 
assembly of notabilities forming part of it, must have reached 
nearer to ten thousand than six ? We have seen tAvo or three 
thousand persons, on rare occasions, at our old New York 
Academy of Music ; but multiply that number by three, 
or possibly five, and the splendor of each particular group by 
fifty or one hundred, and some faint idea may be formed of 
the guests of Baron Haussmann on that Saturday evening ! 

" You are aware what magnificent open spaces surround 
the Hotel de Ville, with the Eue Hivoli on the one side of it, 
and the Seine with its bridges and quays on the other — with 
the great Caserne Napoleon behind it, but at a considerable 
interval, and the shops and houses in front standing at a cor- 
responding shy distance. Well, can you imagine what a 
crowd it was that filled that wide open space ? — the Czar 
only just arrived in Paris, everybody on tiptoe to see him, 
and the additional excitement of standing in the glare of that 
line of gaslights stretching across the palace front, and seeing 
hundred upon hundred of the showiest people in Europe, 
and many of the handsomest women, going by in the hand- 
somest of equipages, and to the most magnificent of balls? 
An orderlv crowd, I must admit — thouoh I do not believe in 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 291 

the good order or harmlessness of Parisian populace, as 1 
may have after-occasion to tell you ; but still a crowd of the 
densest and most eager description, making the passage of 
that wilderness of vehicles almost impossible. 

""Were j^ou ever a fire-fly? — a will-o'-the-wisp ? — a fire- 
balloon ? or a comet ? I suppose not, and yet I saw some- 
thing of one or the other, or of all of them, that night, with 
humanit}'- supplying the material ! Think of one feature of 
the arrival of the Imperial party through that crowd, in so 
many carriages that I do not like to hazard a guess at the 
number — perhaps twenty, perhaps thirty, or forty ; all guarded 
down the side by squadrons of the splendidly-uniformed and 
dashing lancers of the guard ; and every carriage, with its 
gorgeously appointed occupants, lit up inside^ as if it had been 
a ball-room on its own account ! Think what a line of mag- 
nificent will-o'-the-wisps that must have made ; and how that 
light must have flashed and glittered to the eyes of the crowd, 
on face and figure that they wished to recognize — on dress 
and jewel and decoration! It was a case of distinguished 
people ' making a show of themselves,* to please the public 
eye— a case odd enough to deserve mention, and I think a 
little commendation. I could only see that part of the pa- 
geant for a few moments, glancing back from my carriage as 
I made an arrival almost late enough to have been ' royal ' 
in my own right ; but I am not likely soon to forget the 
general effect, even in that which followed. 

^^ Light is to be 'the glory of the other spectacle, to be 
spoken of by-aud-by. Music and jhwers were the features of 
this, as if something ugly in the past needed to be covered 
up and danced merrily over. Ugh ! — I wonder if there was 
not? Ma foil as my French hosts say, I thought so before 
I left the building; but I must tell you that in its proper 
place. Music and flowers — flowers and music — probably the 



292 par:s by sunlight and gaslight. 

order should be changed, for there were even more floral 
glories than witcheries of sound. 

" There is one portion of the Hotel de Yille with which I 
know you are familiar, for I have heard you speak enthu- 
siastically of it — the grand entrance from the Place de la 
Hotel de Yille, with its costliest hangings of cloth and silk, 
gold-fringed and gold-emblemed, sweeping down around col- 
umns that seem to have been shaped and gold-incrusted 
during some one of the many dreams of the 'Arabian Nights.' 
There is nothing like it, I think, in the world ; as there is 
certainly nothing else that I have ever seen, comparable 
in costly splendor to its elaborately-decorated saloons, with 
their frescoes from the ablest pencils, their panellings in which 
cost seems to have been entirely ignored, and their pictures, 
which have certainly been derived from the unscrupulous 
' appropriations ' of centuries, as well as from the 'liberalities' 
of one of the richest cities on the globe. 

" There may be more glorious sensations of being in 
another world while yet breathing the breath of this life, than 
those supplied on entering the civic palace ; but I have no 
hope of ever sharing them, and it is not too sure that any 
accession would be desirable, even if one could arrive at it. 
Imagine that more than regally-splendid vestibule, with its 
gorgeous hangings and decorations, with so many and such 
rare flowers decking it at every point, that all else seemed to 
be but unreal exhalations sprung up in the midst of the most 
rich and varied garden of the generous tropics — with a great 
fountain of exquisite shape and detail in tlie centre, flashing 
out its wealth of water, every drop a gem in the soft blaze of 
the innumerable wax-lights that made doubly beautiful every- 
thing upon which it radiated; with all that could be devised 
of most gorgeous in attendance and reception, scattered 
among all that could be selected of royal, rich, queenly, and 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 293 

fair — pearls and diamonds on brow and bosom of beauty, 
answered by tbe flashing of the like rare gems on the starred 
and crossed and decorated breasts of manhood — silks, satins, 
and velvets, little less than a sea in which the gazer seemed 
to be floating, swimming, almost drowning ; and then add to 
this the most voluptuous music that ever floated from horn 
or rang from string, seeming to drip from that marvellous 
baton waved by white-gloved- Strauss himself — Strauss, to 
whose notes, even when others gave them feeble utterance 
through picked-up orchestras that had never known the 
master-hand, our senses have thrilled and our feet bounded 
so often — add all this, and throw over it all that glamour 
which onl}^ comparative youth and full happiness can bestow, 
from that fairy-land in which we have all believed since 
childhood — then and only then will some dim light creep 
into the eyes and some suspicion into the brain, from that 
moment of moments enjoyed on entering the 'Ball of the 
Sovereigns ' at the Hotel de Ville. 

" But do not suppose that either the splendor or the in- 
terest was exhausted at this mere first glimpse — -neither was 
further entered into than the building — the vestibule only in 
each. For, the great escalier once ascended, in the midst of 
that human, musical and floral bewilderment, no less than a 
dozen of those great halls, au deuxilmc^ opened into each 
other, all devoted to the purposes of the fete, and each, as it 
seemed, more ravishing than the others in the rarity of its 
pictures, the talent employed upon its frescoes, the richness 
of its hangings, the softened blaze of its waxlights, and the 
sense of passing into some new and charmed existence, in- 
evitable on entering ; while the very ingenuity of taste had 
been employed in creating little passages, at the end of which 
came sweet new surprises, in the way of rare flowers, more 
ingenious arrangements of light, and temptations to lose one's 



294 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

self away from the present and wander into tlie charmed past 
and rainbow future of romance, history, and — let me be 
honest on the dangerous theme — the intoxicating whispers 
of love-making, that might not have been indulged in a more 
matter of-fact existence ! 

"I have omitted, so far, one of the rarest elements of 
pleasant intoxication, of the whole. It has appeared to me 
that it should crown all, and have no mention while any 
rivalry remained. Does the thought strike you what other 
sense must have been ministered to than even the sight, the 
sound, the pride, the vanity, and the sense of the romantic ? 
What must have been the perfume, think you, of all the 
sweetest flowers of all lands, thus grouped and gathered, and 
flung broadcast with lavish wastefulness ? "What else than 
the very drunkenness' of delight must have ravished the sense, 
when all the sources from which Lubin and Yiolet have ex- 
tracted their thousand odors, were blended in one wealth of 
fragrance, carrying the weight of sweetness to the very verge 
of oppression ? We have all heard of the lady who ' died of 
a rose, in aromatic pain,' and I beg you to believe that I could 
have easily fainted from the same influences, under slight ad- 
ditional strain of the over-delighted olfactories. 

" Let me recapitulate — something which they say is a 
woman's custom, especially in detailing grievances — and see 
whether I have succeeded in conveying any idea whatever 
of that wonderful scene. The grand halls of the Hotel de 
Yille ; music under Strauss's own hand, and by the orchestra 
brought by Strauss himself from Yienna ; wax-lights by the 
ten thousand; flowers by the literal cart-load, and perfume 
with no measurement but its own volume ; ornamentation ; 
pictures ; statues ; five or six thousand well-dressed 'nobodies,' 
half of them fair woman, and all bedecked and bejeweled in 
the utmost splendor of a wastefid age; hundreds of celebrities, 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 295 

noble if not royal, and each the cynosure of many eyes ; and, 
to crown all, emperors, kings, and royal highnesses enough 
to have revolutionized a republican world, each more or less 
resplendent in court blazonry and gemmed orders, while on 
brow and bosom of their ladies blazed diamonds and rubies 
and pearls and sapphires, of such size and cost that they 
seemed seas of light in which kingdoms had been melted. 
This is what I saw, quite as much with my mind as my eyes ; 
this is where I was — that part of me which had not floated 
away in the enchantments of luxurious novelty."* 

* Paris in '6X» 



XX. 
THE TUILERIES. 

In the sixteenth century, Louise of Savoy, having become 
tired of the Palais des Towmelles, requested her son Francis I. 
to buy the tile yard on the north bank of the Seine just be- 
yond the Louvre. The king made the purchase, but his 
mother soon abandoned her design of building a chateau 
upon it, and gave it to an ofl&cer of the Court. When 
Catharine de Medicis left the Tournelles palace, after the 
death of her husband, she resolved to carry out the plan of 
Queen Louise, and purchased the old Tuilerie, or tile lield, 
and began the present palace, which derives its name from 
the use to which its site was formerly put. The architect 
to whom she entrusted the task was Philibert Delorme. He 
began his work in 1564. According to his design, the 
present building was merely to be the principal front of a 
more extensive pile. He also intended that there should be 
a centre with colonnades on each side leading to the wings. 
His plan was not carried out, however. The front facing the 
gardens has been altered frequently since his day, Henry 
IV. built the large wing on the side next the river, and Louis 
XIV. built that adjoining the Kue de Rivoli and raised the 
centre and the porticoes. Louis Philippe also made im 
portant changes in the portion which lies to the right of the 
centre. The front facing tlie Place du Carrousel remains 
very nearly as it was originally built. 

Although Catharine de Medicis took such care in building 
296 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 2'J7 

the palace, neither she nor her sons ever inhabited it. Henry 
lY. stopped there only in passing through the city. Louis 
XIII. never liked it, and Louis XIV. honored it with his 
presence only upon rare festal occasions. Louis XV. dwelt 
in it during a portion of his minority, but left it as soon as he 
was his own master. 

When Louis XVI. came to the throne, he followed the ex 
ample of the two monarchs of the same name who had pre- 
ceded him, and made his home at Versailles. It was very 
retired and peaceful there, and the noisy disturbances which 
were rocking the capital to its centre could not annoy the 
Court. But oue fine October morning, the good citizens of 
Paris, thinking it a shame that their sovereign should keep 
himself so far aloof from his people, sent a deputation to 
Versailles to induce him to come and dwell amongst them. 
Although the mission was successful, it must be confessed 
that his Majesty's subjects set about it in a very rough way. 
It was hardly a triumphal procession in the midst of which 
their Majesties came into their capital, for the crowd which 
pressed so roughly against the state carriages was drunken 
with a great victory over royalty. The arms which they 
bore had cloven asunder that day the last ties which united 
the King and the Commons, and instead of marching under 
the golden lillies, they carried the heads of the king's best 
friends on their pikes. How the fishwomen yelled at the 
white haired Austrian who gave them, even in her humilia- 
tion, scorn for scorn. Eight on, down the broad avenu 
leading from Versailles, the dreadful procession passed, wi 
its captives, on, on, past the faubourgs and through the 
streets of the Capital, halting only when the Tuileries were 
reached. The people had decided that their king must con- 
tent himself there for the future, and there they kept him 
well, leaving him the semblance of authority for a little 



298 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

while, but soon forcing him to realize most bitterly that he 
was a prisoner in his own palace. A fortnight later, the 
National Assembly came into the city from Versailles, and 
commenced to hold its sittings in the Manege^ or riding- 
school, which stood at the corner of the present streets of 
Eivoli and Castiglione. 

When the people had shut up the king in the old palace 
they put a green riband, across the principal walk of the 
garden to show that they had separated themselves forever 
from the children of St. Louis. It was a simple barrier, but 
not even the most hardy had the audacity to pass it. A 
young man once set his foot beyond it, quite by accident, and 
in the presence of the people, took off' his shoe and wiped off 
the royal dust with his coat. 

It is a sad history that is connected with the stay of the 
royal family at the Tuileries. You can hardly look up at 
one of the old windows without seeming to see the king 
stand there, to receive the insults and not the homage of his 
people, for there is scarcely a window along the whole line 
of the private or State apartments which was not the scene of 
such humiliations for him. At each of these windows also 
stood the alien Queen, holding her child in supplication to 
the mob. Day and night they called the wretched pair to 
face them. Here too, they broke their way into the regal 
halls, and forced the king to exchange the crown of St. Louis 
for the red cap of Saint Antoine. His attempt at flight was 
a failure. Brought back from Varennes, he was kept a still 
closer prisoner. True, he 1iad a sliow of royalty, but even his 
guards were under the orders of his enemies. On the 10th 
of August, 1792, the populace swept his protectors before 
them, massacred the brave Swiss who were so faithful 
amongst the faithless, and swarmed into tlie palace. Nothing 
stopped them. Even the bed chamber of the Queen was 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 299 

invaded, and the royal couch, still \Yarm, was thrust through 
and through with bayonets. The king and his family fled in 
dismay, and sought the protection of the National Assembly, 
only, however, to be sent as prisoners to the Temple. 

On the 10th of May, 1793, the convention left the Manege^ 
and occupied the Salle des Machines^ which was used as the 
private theatre of the palace, and which stood on the site of 
the present Chapel and theatre. They were in session here, 
when Napoleon Bonaparte undertook their defence, and 
swept back the attacking mob with his cannon on the Day of 
the Sections, October, 3, 1795. The convention was suc- 
ceeded by the Council of Ancients, which was afterwards 
expelled by the victorious Corsican. 

On the first of February, 1800, the First Consul occupied 
the Palace as his official residence. He it was v/ho raised it to 
its height of glory. It must have required no little moral 
courage for Napoleon, conqueror as he was, to enter and 
dwell in this palace, for the guillotine had stood just beyond 
the garden wall, and the blood of the last tenants of the old 
pile was hardly dry on the flags of the Place de la Revolution. 
The Directory had not dreamed of venturing within its walls. 
"The eifemiuate Barras and his worthy colleagues," says 
Jules Janin, " those three men who possessed every kind 
of audacity, even the audacity of fear, dared not inhabit the 
Chfiteau des Tuileries. Its solitude frightened them: the 
history written upon its walls made them turn pale, and 
tremble from the depth of their souls ; they fancied there 
must be, at midnight — the hour for spectres — in these royal 
dwellings, royal shadows, beheaded ghosts, who carried their 
crowns upon their necks, for want of heads, a royal widow, 
with long white hair, who returned from the dead, dressed 
in the short gown, which an acti'ess was charitable enough to 
lend her, and the black robe which she had mended with her 



300 PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

own hands, before marching to the scaffold. Barras was 
afraid, that ambitious profligate, who succeeded for an hour, 
because he found himself on a level with the vice of his 
time — even he, dared not take possession of the Queen's 
bed ; he was afraid that he should scarcely fall asleep, before 
the great king Louis XIY., impelled by the pride of his race, 
would cause the silent pavement to ring with his red heel, 
and would himself draw the curtains of the bed, and ask 
this wretched being,, lying there in the midst of the Tuileries, 
and upon the fleurs-des-lis of France, what was his name of 
Bourbon, and what place his reign occupied amidst so many 
reigns. The Directory left the Tuileries deserted ; its life of 
every day — its nights of revelling — the intermission from its 
slavery — the combinations of this Venitian policy, Yenitian 
from its vice and its horror — its alarms caused both by its 
victories and defeats ; the Directory concealed all these in the 
palace of the Luxembourg ; that palace built in the Italian 
style, by the Italian Medicis." 

Whether it was an act of moral courage or not, it was cer- 
tainly a master-stroke of the young Consul to establish him- 
self here. It was the house of kings, and the fitting place 
for the Ruler of France. Once securely seated here, half the 
victory was accomplished. Men attached more weight to 
bulletins and proclamations from the Tuileries than if they 
had been issued from the Luxembourg ; and the man who had 
dared to take possession of the throne itself came to be re- 
garded by his fellows as worthy to sit upon it. And who 
shall say what inspiration the Consul himself drew from the 
vast halls through which he moved ? Republican onl}^ in 
name, he was at heart a King. Chief of an already tottering 
State, he was looking around for some means of saving his 
country from anarchy. The very walls whispered to him 
stories of absolute power. The very floors, as he trod them. 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 301 

oreaked solemn protests against the new doctrine of political 
equality. He was already secure in the old palace, and 
therefore was its master, and the masters of the Tuileries had 
always been masters of France. Men had grown accustomed 
to the first part of this great programme, why should not 
they submit to the rest ? So the plan unfolded itself, and at 
length the little man who had entered these stately halls a 
simple citizen, stood up in them a monarch ; not with the 
chaplet of Saint Louis on his brows — for he disdained the 
bauble which had been so easily and shamefully dragged in 
the very dust from which he had sprung — but wearing the 
hardier and more glorious crown of Charlemagne. What 
mattered it to him how Europe raged around the barriers he 
had thrown about his France ? Was he not master of the 
Tuileries ? and did not his star shine brightly still over the 
pointed roofs of the palace ? Here he brought the trophies 
of his conquests ; here he established that brilliant court, 
which France still remembers with wonder ; here he was 
happy in the love of the beautiful Josephine ; here he de- 
manded, and received as his right, the hand of the daughter 
of the Cassars. Usurper, his enemies styled him. Emperor^ 
Father, his people called him. 

At length he fell, and all Europe came marching into 
Paris to hold down one beaten man. They set to work to 
" purify," as they said, the palace of the Tuileries. They 
scraped the walls of their proud frescoes, and covered the 
Imperial emblems with a gray-stone tint, imagining that they 
could thus eftace the memory of the great Emperor from the 
hearts of his people. When the palace was "purified," and 
the last token effaced which could remind the Bourbons of 
their country's glory, Louis XVIII. moved into it. At the 
very windows where his ill-starred brother had received the 
jeers of the mob, he stood to watch the long line of foreign 



302 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

troops file out of his capital. Just below him laj the old 
walk across which the green riband had drawn the barrier 
between his house and the people of France. The riband 
had disappeared je^rs ago, but the barrier was drawn now 
across the heart of France. 

Blind like the rest of his race, Louis fell into a fancied 
security from which he was rudely aroused, " A courier 
from the frontiers, knocked suddenly, one night, at the gate 
of the Tuileries. His knock was that of a man who brought 
bad news : — he was told that the king slept, but his answer 
was that he must be immediately aAvakened, for there had 
been seen on the road, a little man in a small hat, dressed in 
gray, with his hands crossed behind him, who had arrived on 
foot and alone, with his sword in its scabbard, again to take 
the Constitutional throne of France from its legitimate kings. 
Thus said the courier, and he would take no reward for the 
intelligence; he chose it should be an act of charity to the 
house of Bourbon." 

The Emperor came on to Paris in hot haste, and Louis 
XVIII. fled from the palace into which Europe had thrust 
him. His flight was so sudden that he even left his medicine 
on the table of his chamber. Napoleon came at once to the 
Tuileries, and, weary with his journey, sought his old bed- 
room, from which the fugitive king had just betaken himself. 
It was in disorder, and was littered with physic-bottles and 
half-picked chicken bones. The latter were thrown in every 
direction — even under the bed. "Look !" said the Emperor, 
indignantly, turning to a friend who had accompanied him ; 
" as if it were not enough to make a kitchen of my bed-room, 
they have made a dog-kennel of it." 

For one hundred days more, Napoleon was Emperor of 
France. Yet even he, so hopeful in adversity, must have 
been full of despair then. The bright star that had guided 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 303 

him, no longer shone clearly over the Taileries. The fickle 
people he had loved so well and made so great, were changed. 
The great heart of France no longer beat responsive to his 
own. Victory had deserted him, and power had fled from 
him. No wonder then that he could not sleep. No wonder 
that he paced these floors in anguish and despair. His 
day had gone by. The old walls whispered no more to 
him of power and splendor. If they spoke at all now, they 
must have told of the misery they had witnessed when they 
held a king as a prisoner. 

Once more the Tuileries welcomed back a king. We may 
be sure the old palace imparted no inspiration to him, how- 
ever, for it was a monument to the glory of France, whilst 
he was the proof of her shame. The people of Paris had no 
longer cause for pride as they glanced at the Tuileries, for 
the yellow walls held a man who had consented to humble 
his country at the feet of Europe, that he might be a king in 
name. The great Emperor could not sleep as he contem- 
plated here the future of his country during the Hundred 
Days, but this last child of Saint ^ouis slumbered with true 
Bourbon stolidit}'' in the midst of his country's shame. Time 
passed on, and France, bound and enslaved now, came at last 
to see that in deserting her Emperor, she had deserted the 
cause of liberty and progress. She had sought peace and 
repose, and she had purchased them at the cost of her liberty. 
Napoleon had won for her the first place in the world ; the 
Bourbons had sunk her to the jowest. 

Charles X. was no less a Bourbon than his predecessor, 
but he was a truer Frenchman, and a better king. Yet even 
he failed to draw from the old pile the moral support it had 
given to the Man of Destiny. The mark of the green riband 
had been growing deeper across the hearts of the French 
people, and when it burned so fiercely into them that endu- 



304 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

ranee was no longer possible, they rose as one man, and the 
war cry of Saint Antoine was heard once more under the 
walls of the Tuileries. The king fled, and the populace once 
more swarmed into the splendid halls. These rioters of 1830 
were less sentimental than those of 1792, and were conse- 
quently less merciful. Failing to find the royal family in the 
palace, they turned their fury against the palace itself. They 
broke or carried ofi" the furniture, tore down the hangings, 
and destroyed the ornaments. The wine in the royal cellars 
proved a rich treat for them. They devoured the contents 
of the pantries, rolled over Ishe royal beds, and shouted out 
ribald songs from the throne itself. They were good patriots, 
no doubt, these uncouth children of Saint Antoine, but they 
were very destructive fellows on this July day. They never 
reflected that there was no enmity between the old chateau 
and themselves, and that they Avere in reality demolishing 
their own property. Heaven knows how far they would have 
carried their vandalism, if some shrewd fellow, by a happy 
inspiration, had not cried out that the army of the king was 
at Eambouillet, on its way to chastise them. Instantly the 
arms which had been thrown aside for plunder were caught 
up, and the mob of " good patriots " surged out of the palace, 
and took the road to Eambouillet to complete their work by 
demolishing both the king and his army. When they got 
there, however, the king was on his way out of the country, 
and the troops had deserted his cause. Back they went to 
Paris, and made straight for the Tuileries. 

" But daring this interval," says Jules Janin, "Some dex- 
terous person, one of those men who guess beforehand, the 
monarchies which are about to rise, had, already, on his own 
authority, closed the chateau of the Tuileries. Then the 
people, who were gaily returning to it, were told that each 
man must 2:0 back to his wife, and that the Eevolution of 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 305 

July would not answer for the consequences of three nights 
passed away from hoine. So our conquerors threw down 
their arms, left their carriages, and set out in great haste for 
their dwellings, terribly afraid of being scolded by their 
wives, and called lazy hones I Immediately an invisible hand 
possessed itself of the guns of the conquerors of July, never 
to return them. The horses were taken back to their stables, 
the carriages into the coach-house, and the Chateau des 
Tuileries was closed, as they say in the play-bills, on account 
of repairs, and in order that the new piece may be repeated." 

Louis Philippe hesitated a long time before he consented 
to occupy the Tuileries after he became king. He made 
many changes in the palace, and restored it to the degree of 
splendor it had enjoyed under the empire. Yet he, too, fell 
before the people, for the green riband had cut off" all the 
children of Saint Louis from France. Bad as the palace had 
fared at the hands of the mob in 1830, it suffered still more 
in 1848. Troops in abundance were at hand for its defence, 
but Louis Philippe had not the courage to fight for the crown 
he had gotten by the sacrifice of his manhood. Almost at 
the first signal of danger, he and his family deserted the 
chateau, and fled from the country. The mob broke down 
the doors, and occupied the palace ; plundering and destroy- 
ing on every hand. For ten days they held high revel in 
these sumptuous halls. They carried the throne to the Place 
de la Bastille, and burned it, swearing that another should 
never be set up in the old chateau. When their fury and 
the wines of the fugitive king were exhausted, they slunk 
away from the palace, and went home. The building was 
then converted into a hospital for the wounded of the Eevo- 
lution, after which it was used for an exhibition of paintings. 

Just over the Place de la Concorde there dwelt, at this 
time, in the shadow of those trees you see growing so prettily 
20 



306 PAKIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

in tlie gardens of the Elysees palace, a silent, thoughtful 
man, whom they called President, as they had called the first 
of his name Consul. From where he dwelt he could see the 
pointed turrets of the old chateau rising above the tree-tops, 
and beyond the river the sunlight glittered proudly on* the 
tomb at the Invalides. Was it not natural that his thoughts 
should wander from the one to the other ? that he should re- 
member that it was the great man asleep under the golden 
dome that had made the old chateau the centre of the glories 
of France ? There was a wonderful resemblance, too, between 
the circumstances in which the President was placed, and 
those in which th§ Consul had found himself, when he first 
set foot in the Tuileries. The Consul had stood alone be- 
tween the country and anarchy in 1800, and now the Presi- 
dent filled up the same gap. The Consul had planted himself 
on the throne and averted the ruin which threatened France, 
and there was no other course for the President to pursue. 
He took the decisive step, and in 1851, the Tuileries were 
tenanted again. 

If the old palace had gathered around it a galaxy of glories 
during the First Empire, it has been made still more glorious 
during the reign of its present master. When Napoleon III. 
entered the Tuileries he had not only the injuries to his race 
to repair, but, better still, the wrongs of his country to avenge. 
One by one he has avenged them, little by little he has set 
up again the structure which the enemies of France once 
boasted they had pulled down. He has humbled the pride 
of the foes who humiliated her, and by peaceful means has 
forced her worst enemies to sue for her friendship. Since he 
mounted the throne, the old palace has witnessed a succession 
of rare triumphs. It has received as its guests the monarchs 
of Europe, heirs of those sovereigns who came to it in 181-1, 
and under its very shadow swore that the name of Napoleon 




s 



f^ 



aus 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 309 

should be forgotten in France. They have come as the 
guests of the heir and successor of the monarch whose throne 
their fathers destroyed, and have come, acknowledging in 
effect, the justice of his cause, and the folly of the Holy 
Alliance. 

The palace of to-day is one of the most magnificent of any 
of the royal chateaux of Europe. It is the town-residence of 
the Emperor and Empress, and is ajways occupied by them 
while they are in Paris. 

The fa9ade towards the garden is very irregular, but is im- 
posing and picturesque. It is three stories and an attic in 
height, and is one thousand feet long, extending, in short, 
from the quay which borders the Seine to the Eue de Eivoli. 
In the centre is a handsome projecting building, with a 
curved roof, called the Pavilion de V Horloge (the Clock 
Tower), from which floats the Imperial standard during the 
occupancy of the palace by the Court. The principal en- 
trance from the court-yard, as well as from the gardens, is 
through this tower. The north wing, which adjoins the Eue 
de Eivoli, is called the Pavilion Marsan. It contains the 
chapel, theatre, and several of the State apartments, besides 
the apartments of the of&cers and attendants of the Imperial 
household. The last named rooms also occupy a part of 
the gallery bordering the Eue de Eivoli. To the left, or 
south of the Pavilion de VHorloge^ is the Pavilion de Flore, 
which has been recently rebuilt. This wing contains some 
of the State apartments, and the private apartments of the 
Imperial family. The principal entrance to the latter is on 
the ground-floor in the archway of the clock-tower, but a 
private stairway enables them to communicate with the 
gardens without using the central door. 

The State apartments are usually shown to visitors once or 
twice a week during the absence of the Court, but while the 



310 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Emperor is residing here, it is impossible, of course, to visit 
them. The order of showing the rooms is varied sometimes, 
but at present is as follows : Visitors enter from the Place du 
Carrousel and the court-yard, through a doorway on the right 
of the Pavilion de VHorhge. A small stairway, constructed 
during the reign of Louis Philippe, leads to the vestibule 
admitting you to the most northern of the State apartments, 
the beautiful Salle des Gardes^ or Nobles' Saloon. On the 
right, as you pass down the hall, is a side door closed, in part, 
by a wooden railing, over which you may gaze down into 
the chapel, where the Emperor and Empress hear mass. It 
is a very small apartment, and is very plain. The altar is on 
your right as you look down, and the Imperial "pew," if I 
may so call it, in the gallery at the opposite end. The ap- 
pointments of the chapel are plain and simple, but handsome. 
The ceiling is ornamented with frescoes, the central piece 
representing the Entro,nce of Henry IV. into Paris. Just back 
of the chapel is the theatre, a handsome little hall, fitted up 
for the private entertainment of the Court. It is not usually 
shown to visitors. The chapel and the theatre were built by 
Napoleon I., on the site of the old Salle des Machines, in which 
the Convention had sat during the Revolution, 

The next saloon is the Salle de la Paix., finished in white 
and gold, and ornamented with a colossal Statue of Peace, 
presented to Napoleon I. by the City of Paris. This is one 
of the most magnificent apartments in the palace, and is 
generally used as a ball-room. The next is the splendid 
Salle de Marechaux (Hall of Marshals), which is, perhaps, 
the most magnificent room in Paris. It occupies two stories 
of the Pavilion de VJforloge, and is sixty-five feet square. Its 
walls and ceiling are magnificently frescoed, and the room is 
adorned with portraits and busts of the most famous Mar- 
shals of France. A number of caryatides, copied from 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 311 

those of Jean Goujon, in the Louvre, support an elegant gal- 
lery wliicli surrounds the upper part of the hall. Several 
magnificent chandeliers light up the room, and the furniture 
is of the most elegant description. Unlike the other rooms, 
the Hall of Marshals occupies the entire depth of the palace. 
Its rear windows look out upon the court-yard, while the 
front windows open upon the gardens. From the central 
window the view ranges over the gardens and the Chavi'ps 
Elysees as fur back as the Arc de Tri.onvphe. It was in this 
hall that the present Emperor, when President of the Eepub- 
lic, opened the Legislative Chambers, after the Coup cV Etai, 
and it was here that the civil marriage of the Emperor and 
Empress was performed, on the 29th of January, 1853. 

A door on the left of the hall leads to a suite of magnifi- 
cent apartments which border the court-yard of the palace. 
The first is called the Salle du Premier Cow-sm/,, because it con- 
tains a portrait of Napoleon I., as First Consul. It is now 
used as a card room. The next is the Salle d'' Apollon, also 
very handsome. This opens into the Salle du Trone. This 
magnificent apartment is hung on all sides with Gobelin tap- 
estry, and the ceiling is beautifully frescoed. The windows 
look out upon the court-yard, and at the opposite side, on a 
raised platform, under a magnificent canopy of crimson velvet 
worked with the Imperial arms, and studded thickly with 
golden bees, is the throne of France. It consists of two hand- 
some arm-chairs, tlie one on the right for the Emperor, and 
that on the left for the Empress. A massive gold eagle is 
perched on the top of the canopy. Immense chandeliers fil?<3d 
with wax candles, hang from the ceiling and several tall can- 
delabra stand about the room. The ceiling and fire-place of 
this room, as .well as those of the entire suite to which it 
belongs, date from the time of Louis XIII. The fire-places 
are worthy of examination. The ceilings are fine specimens 



312 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

of their kind. The Emperor and Empress hold formal recep- 
tions in this apartment at certain times of the year, and all 
State ceremonials take place here. The present throne re- 
places the one which was burned hj the mob in 1848. The 
next room is the Salle du Gonseil (Council Chamber). It is 
hung with Gobelin tapestry, and is ornamented with Sevres 
vases, and the ceiling is beautifully frescoed. The last of the 
State apartments opening upon the court is the magnificent 
Galcrie de Diane.' It is one of the largest and most gorgeous 
halls in the palace, and is used as a dining room upon State 
occasions. 

You will have noticed in passing through the Hall of Mar- 
shals and the rooms succeeding it, a temporary railing in the 
centre of the apartments. This is placed here in order to mark 
the route the visitor is expected to pursue in examining the 
palace. You pass down the side next to the court-yard as far 
as the Gallery of Diana^ entering that hall by a door on the 
same side. On your return, you leave the gallery by a door 
on the opposite or western side, and go back through the 
apartments you have examined until you reach the Rail of 
Marshals. You leave this room by its northwestern door, 
and find yourself in the vestibule containing the Grand Stair- 
way. This is a magnificent work of art, consists of three long 
flights, and is constructed of white marble. Descending it, 
you pass out, through the Pavilion de VSorloge^ into the 
gardens. 

With the exception of the Hall of Marshals the State 
apartments lie entirely along the court-yard. To the north 
of the clock tower the Grand Stairway, the Chapel, and the 
Theatre, lie between them and the gardens, and to the south 
of the clock tower, the garden side is occupied by the private 
apartments of the Imperial family. Those of the Emperor 
and Prince Imperial are on the lower floor. The Emperor's 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 313 

are furnished with great simplicity, and are more for use than 
ornament. The Prince Imperial's apartments are also simply 
furnished but are provided with all the comforts needed by 
one of his tender years. The apartments of the Empress are 
on the same floor which contains the State halls, and are con- 
nected with those of the Emperor by a private stairway. Her 
sleeping room was once occupied by Napoleon I. as a library. 
It is beautifully frescoed, and is furnished in rosewood and 
bronze. Near the bed-room there is an oratory and a chapel. 
Adjoining these are the private library, a working cabinet 
[Cabinet tV etudes), the latter of which is adorned with portraits 
of the Emperor, the Princess Mathilde, and the Princess Clo- 
tilde. That of the Emperor is the famous portrait by Cabanel. 
All the furniture and appointments of these rooms are in the 
style of Louis XIV. and Louis XVL There are other suites 
of rooms used for various purposes, and all the apartments 
are fitted up in a style of unequalled splendor, worthy of the 
beautiful woman who is their chief ornament. One of these 
rooms, the Salon ties Fleurs (Hall of Flowers), is said to be 
the most exquisite piece of workmanship in the world. 

All the apartments of the Imperial family look out upon 
the gardens. You will try in vain, however, to get a glance 
at them from without. During the absence of the Court the 
blinds are closed, and when the rooms are occupied you can- 
not approach near enough to satisfy your curiosity. 

Stand off in the gardens, and gaze up at the time-worn 
fagade. A finer old pile you will not find in this city of 
palaces, and you will seek far for one more picturesque. It 
does not look like a place for ghosts ; yet they Avill tell you 
in Paris that it has its evil genius, a little red man who shows 
himself at certain fatal epochs. You will be told that this 
strange being was seen in 1814, in 1830, and in 18-18, and that 
on the day tlie Duke of Orleans died (during the reign of 



311 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Louis Philippe), lie was seen walking around tlie flagstaff 
He says nothing, but walks hurriedly about the palace. No 
one has ever spoken to him, for none who have seen him 
have ever been bold enough t© do so. You will laugh 
at the story doubtless, but you will find many in the city who 
are perfectly satisfied that should trouble or danger ever 
threaten the present occupants of the old chateau, the little 
red man will be seen in some part of the palace, to herald the 
coming storm. 

The State balls of the Tuileries are famous for their magni- 
ficence ; but the most magnificent ever held there was the ball 
given to the Czar of Russia, at whi(?h the King of Prussia was 
also present, on the 10th of June, 1867. A lady who at- 
tended it, gives the following description of it : 

" In the place of the six to ten thousand invitations issued 
to the festivity at the Hotel de Yille, not more than six to 
eight hundi-ed had been issued to that at the Tuileries, while 
the command had been given that evening instead of the 
court-dress usually assumed by the gentlemen, something of 
the air and exclusiveness of the 'private ball' should be im- 
parted to it in all its details. 

" That particular part of the line of carriages bearing 
guests, in which I happened to be ensconced, must have 
reached the Gardens of the Tuileries about half-past nine, 
coming across from the Rue St. Honore to the great gate 
leading in from the Rue Rivoli at the Place des Pyramides. 
The gardens themselves were entirely cleared ; but without 
the gate, and the in wide Rue * * * far as the eye could 
see in the comparatively dim light of the lamps and the young 
moon hanging in the west — for the illumination directly to 
be spoken of had not yet commenced — a densely-packed 
crowd surrounded the gardens, stretched away into the dis- 
tance, pressed close against gate and railings, hemmed in the 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 315 

carriages so that Avith all the efforts of the police they could 
scarcely move two steps forward without a check. Work- 
men, many of them, from their blouses ; something worse 
than workmen, probably, some of those who wore costlier 
material that the blue chambray ; no small proportion of 
women of the hlanchisseuse and wine-seller condition, capped 
and ferocious. But oh, those visages of the male mob of 
Paris! Oh, the thin cheeks, the lowering brows, the shock 
heads, the wild, bad eyes that scowled half-hungry defiance 
as the owners thrust them into the very faces of the shudder- 
ing occupants of the open carriages! Oh, the clenching 
hands, the muttering lips, the sneering and yet too-earnest 
tones, the evidence that only a spark was wanting to explode 
the magazine of temporarily-indolent hate — that never tiger 
tore to pieces its prej^ with more demoniac ]oj than those 
'dear children' of the Emperor, the hand of power for one 
moment lifted from their necks, would have shown in mur- 
dering the whole array of guests, from the host downward, 
slaying the male members of the cortege, butcher-like, with 
quick and sudden blows, and making a horrible feast of 
rapine and twice-terrible slaughter among the dainty flesh of 
the weak women who accompanied them ! Ugh, I shudder 
to think of dozens of threatening, glaring, frightful faces, 
thrust into my own in the few moments of pause at the gate, 
in spite of the efforts of the police to prevent the outrage, 
and creating the same pleasant impression of security as if a 
whole menagerie of ferocious beasts had been present, un- 
caged, and each held only by a cord of pack thread that 
might snap at any instant. *-»**** 
" At all events, we passed the gates after a brief delay, and 
were in the Tuileries Gardens, set down at the grand entrance, 
which, as you will remember, is in the centre of the garden- 
width as well as of the pakice-front. -i^ * * * Whether 



316 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

fhe lights had before existed but kept low, and were at that 
instant flung into full blaze ; or whether bj some electric 
arrangement all the lighting took place then and at once, I 
cannot pretend to saj. I only know that in an instant, 
sprung into full glory, from mere ordinary evening-light, the 
illumination of the Tuileries Gardens. 

"You know the Gardens of the Tuileries — that portion of 
them, especially, which lie immediately in front of the grand 
entrance of the palace — the wealth of fine trees which make 
just enough of shade, in the daytime, to supply the loveliest 
of walks ; the shrubs from every clime, with flowers of every 
form and color, which make the whole nearer portion of the 
Gardens one wonderful piece of floral embroidery. Then 
you know, too, some of the fire-witcheries of the Jardin 
Mabille and the Chateau des Fleurs — the skill with which 
great rows of lily-bells, which would seem entirely natural 
if they were not so gigantic, are made to burst, at a given 
moment, into lily-bells with tongues of flame ; and how the 
globes of fire are so disposed there as to dazzle anew at every 
turn and present continual new groupings of brilliancy. 
Multiply all this by an hundred or two if you can; then add 
to it little lines of globed colored lights creeping around the 
roots of trees and shrubs, as if an endless menagerie of fiery 
serpents had been let out to twine and circle everywhere ; 
and hang from every bough, and apparently from every clus- 
ter of leaves, a colored globe or lantern, with such a variety 
in shade that they seem to mock the hues of the very flowers 
they rival. Extend this up from the shrubs to trees, until 
there seems to be a line of light half-Avay skyward, brighter 
than the Milky Way, and almost as countless as the orbs 
composing it ; and throw over walk after walk arches of 
delicate pipe, the agency invisible in the absence of daylight, 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 317 

but little jets, of light shooting and radiating from them with 
the soft freedom of so many issues of bright water ; then, 
when the extreme of beauty in fire and artificial light seems 
to have been reached, let great broad flames of calcium blaze 
stream down from airy distances, continually varying in color, 
and fading and glowing as if high over all a comet of ever- 
changing ray was shedding down portions of the 'light which 
no mortal may know.' Let this all reflect upon the glory of 
white statues and sparkling fountains, and the noble front of 
that wilderness of separate palaces, the Tuileries, and flash 
far away upon the great column of the Place de la Concorde, 
and seem to light up the Seine and its farther banks on the 
one hand, and to touch the great city with a, broad belt of 
flame on the other. 

" But there was something upon which the blaze of that 
illumination shone, a part of the Tuileries and yet not of it, 
which made the second notable feature of that imperial 
magnificence. This was a platform built especially for the 
occasion, outside one of the great drawing-room windows, 
approached from without by thirty or forty low steps, and 
from within from the ball-room floor by the full-length win- 
dow ; with a canopy of green silk and gold, the Emperor's 
golden bees studding it, and the whole so richly draped and 
ornamented with the rarest flowers and costly gems of art, 
that it seemed a part of Aladdin's palace left behind when 
the rest of the structure vanished. It was here that the im- 
perial and royal party sunned themselves, so to speak, in 
that wonderful light, and added to the brilliancy of the scene, 
to near spectators, by the reflections on gem and order and 
decoration. The structure seemed to belong to the light, and 
the light to the structure. Both were wonderful, unrivalled, 
magnificent in their way. 

"I thought that I had before been 'received' — more than 



318 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

once in the course of my life ; but all that I had ever before 
seen of this detail of ' society ' seemed to me at the moment 
mere neglect and rudeness beside that highest development 
of a science in which the French excel all other nations as if 
they belonged to a different race. Such clouds of rich- 
liveried attendants, each seeming to blend the obsequiousness 
of the servant with the suave dignity of the gentleman, 
chanced to be in exactly the right place at the moment when 
every lady stepped from her carriage and passed within the 
vestibule, and so deftly and quickly relieved her of cloaks 
and wraps and dropped into her hand the little ivory check 
that was to redeem them, that not one but appeared to be the 
object of special attention, and to have precisely the proper 
servant at her exclusive command. And then such a Master 
of Ceremonies met every lady in the vestibule, just at the 
entrance of the music-flower atmosphere, at precisely the 
moment when her wraps had fallen, her robes settled into 
graceful fold, and she was ready to do fashionable battle to 
the death — met each as if she alone, of all that assembly, was 
the object for which his unimpeachable evening-dress had 
been assumed, and seemed rather to sweep than conduct her 
up the grand escalier and toward the salons of festivity — that 
he seemed to be multiplied into at least an hundred, all pos- 
sessing the same rare qualifications. 

" But I must pause again, as I did pause, a little in defiance 
of etiquette, at the escalier. You have seen that noble cen- 
tral staircase of the Tuileries, and know what it is at ordinary 
times; what must it have been, think you, when the rarest 
flowers from all the world seemed to have twined around it, 
as if the hundred years of a 'Sleeping Beauty' had over- 
grown the whole palace with glory to hide decay ! But ah, 
there were other and terribly-handsome flowers there — flowers 
that had hrown in no garden — nothing less than a line of 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 319 

the Emperor's splendid, richlj-uniformed six-feet Gent Gardes, 
crowned with the silver helmet and long drooping white 
plume, and filling each end of every second step with mag- 
nificent and immovable human statuary ! 

"Statuary, indeed ! for I believe that tlie palace might have 
burned or fallen under the shock of an earthquake, and not 
one would have moved without orders — ^just as the stout old 
Eoman guards at Herculaneum are said to have stood motion- 
less while the shower of hot ashes from Vesuvius gathered up 
to their chins and then smothered out their lives. 

"Those splendid fellows not o\\\y seemed immovable, but 
were so, as I happen to know ; for a pleasant but very laugh- 
able contretemps occurred just when I was on one of the lowest 
steps of the escalier, some hint of which has already crept, as 
I see, into the French newspapers. It created, for a moment, 
quite a buzz among those who observed and understood it, 
and would have forced a smile, I think, even from the grave 

lips of the Emperor. Miss H , one of our pretty little 

American belles par excellence, finding her slipper loosened 
when half-way up the stair, stopped to fasten it, leaning 
against what, from its immovability, she took to be one of 
the many statues of military personages lining the steps. It 
was the form of a Cent Garde against which she supported 
herself by one hand and her snowy left shoulder ; and that 
form remained as stony and motionless, outwardly, as the 
statue could have been — whatever the sensations that may 
have surged through the pulses of the soldier at being thu^ 
brought within touch of a warm breathing beauty so far be- 
yond his ordinary reach. The silent figure breathed, how- 
ever, even if lightly; and the lady's absorbed senses finally 
took the alarm at feeling a trembling motion under her hand; 
SO that, with a pretty scream, half fright and half apology, 
she drew herself suddenly away, forced on the refractory 



320 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

slipper, and tripped up the escalier a little more nimbly than 
she had intended. 

"But what a spectacle met the unaccustomed eye and 
even dazzled one used to festive splendors, when we had 
been marshalled by the courteous Master of Ceremonies 
through two magnificent salons, au deuxieme^ each perfect in 
frescoes and decorations, regal in its appointments and furni- 
ture, blooming with flowers, and ablaze with a thousand 
lights, into the grand salle du trone of the evening — the great 
ball-room of the Tuileries! You know the wonderful size 
of that room, though I suppose, like myself, you could not 
render the result in feet and inches — only say ' one of the 
largest in the world,' and certainly ' one of the most gor- 
geous.' Frescoes, gilded ornamentation, rare flowers in match- 
less profusion in raised vases, a great candelabra radiating 
softest and yet most brilliant light from so many points that 
it seemed to be a blending of sun and moon just overhead — 
I do not see how you can do otherwise than receive these 
little descriptive items in the gross, and apply and elaborate 
them at your leisure. 

"And here a word of the lights. I have used the phrase 
'candelabra' instead of 'chandelier,' which really means the 
same thing — because the first conveys a more nearly correct 
idea. Do you suppose that the Tuileries is lighted with gas 
for festive occasions ?— that female beauty, which I must 
own to be sometimes a trifle, delicate and in need of nursing, 
is at such times subjected to the searching influences of that 
inflammable discovery of the nineteenth century ? If you 
do, you err seriously : the same description of light which 
shone upon Marguerite de Valois and Marie de Medicis, 
radiates upon Eugenie de Montijo and her attendant lumi- 
naries. Wax candles — nothing else throughout; wax can- 
dles in such unlimited profusion that the production of a 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 321 

world would seem to be consumed in a single evening ; but 
nothing more glaring on the female cheek, on such occasions, 
than this soft kiss of warm golden splendor, which takes 
away pallor where it exists, and does not deal too harshly 
with rouge and enamel. There ! I have let you into one of 
the secrets of my sex; let me catch you making undue use 
of the admission if you think it advisable ! 

" But now. I know that you are impatient, or at^ least your 
readers will be, to see more closely some of the royal and 
other celebrities occupying their position in the grand salon^ 
and to hear of the action of the ball proper. Know, then, 
that at the end of the room right from the entrance there 
was a raised dais or platform, richly carpeted, and with two 
carpeted steps leading up to it ; that on the dais were pre- 
cisel}'' twenty-five chairs — I think that for some reason or 
other I counted them a dozen times over ; and that on and 
around that dais, during the evening, shone the great lumi- 
naries in whose blaze we were all basking — republicans quite 
as much as any of the others. 

" I should say, however, that the Imperial party entered 
the salon after the^most of the company had assembled — 
perhaps at about ten or half-past ; and I cannot find a more 
appropriate place than the present to tell you of a little inci- 
dent connected with their entrance, which the newspaper 
people are quite likely to omit, intentionally or otherwise, 
and which seemed to me to display one of two things in the 
Empress — wonderful childish naivete, or wonderful artful 
mannerism of a peculiar character. The Empress entered 
on the arm of the Czar of Eussia, as the special guest of the 
evening, the Emperor and other notabilities immediately 
before, behind, and around. Of course she was at the 
moment engaged in the very highest exercise of hospitality — 
introducing a guest and endeavoring to place him at ease j 
21 



322 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

and yet can you imagine Avhat slie did ? I do not think it 
at all probable that six hours could have elapsed since her 
last sight of the Duchess Anna Murat de Mouchy, who has 
been for some time one of her pets ; but at all events she left 
the arm of the Czar, without a word of apology, rushed one 
third of the way across the room, i^^-ith the air of a mother 
flying to a beloved child not met for a twelve-month, seized 
and kissed the young Duchess in a way that I can only 
describe as devouring — leaving the Czar, in what I could see, 
was a very awkward position, stopping the whole progress 
of the Imperial party, and causing the Emperor to look at 
her in a manner which would not have been pleasant if/ 
had been the subject of the glance, and the gazer my hus- 
band I This may have been quite ' the thing to do ' — proba- 
bly it was ; at all events it was what we call ' stagey,' and I 
should not have liked to risk the impression of my being 
underbred, had I performed the same evolution under similar 
circumstances. 

" The dais found its occupants at last, and I shall endeavor 
to give you a brief descriptive word of a few who then and 
later filled the chairs on it, as I saw thenxthen and to a bet- 
ter advantage afterward, when dancing or moving among the 
guests. 

" First, the Czar of Eussia, the special guest of the even- 
ing — a tall, large man, moustached, broad-faced, inclined to 
be blonde and northern-looking as well as fine-looking — 
older than most of his pictures, and beginning to remind one 
of his imperial and imperious father, Nicholas, He would 
have looked much better, I think, in anything else than his 
complete suit of white cloth covered with orders — the general 
effect so unusual to our 'evening' eyes. 

" The Empress entered with the Czar, leaned on his arm, 
and sat beside him on tlie dais; and she is well entitled to a 



PARIS BT SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 323 

place as early as the second. She is certainly very handsome 
yet, and wears her dignity proudly; though not even my re- 
gard for my own sex can prevent my noticing that she is 
losing something of her fine outline of form as she grows a 
shade stouter, and that the once clear skin is thickening so 
that the veins on the temples need to»be supplied artificially 
instead of showing through as they used to do. I should do 
very little violence' to my impressions, in applying to her 
the well-known alliteration, 'fair, fat and forty' — somehow 
that is her atmosphere. She was heavily enameled, very 
decollete^ and a little sad-faced when in repose, as she may 
well have been, even in the midst of these splendors. Her 
outer adornings certainly won my eyes, if I could speculate 
upon her phj^sique. She wore a robe of some white Algerian 
silk material, with a thread of silver running through it, and 
bias-flounced; a ribbon bow of diamonds on the right shoul- 
der, fastening a broad tri-colored ribbon which crossed the 
breast and ended in a jeweled order at the left hip ; a neck- 
lace of black velvet, closely studded with solitaire diamonds 
of great size and beauty,, with depending strips of strung- 
solitaires falling fern-like down bosom and back, until they 
almost formed a covering for what otherwise had none ; a 
bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley in her hand, and a heavy dia- 
mond circlet or demi-crown spanning her front head, which 
she had removed during the course of the evening, because 
it either was, or ought to have been thought^ too heavy for com- 
fort. If the Anna de Mouchy demonstration was real, so 
was this, probably ; if otherwise, this may have been a strip 
of the same pattern. 

"But I must pause here again to make an explanation, 
covering — or perhaps the opposite — others than the Empress. 
I have spoken of her as being 'very decollete,' and 'heavily 
enameled.' There is no occasion of repeating the terms for 



324 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

each of the female notabilities present, though I might do so 
with propriety for most of them — all, certainly, except the 
very young. ' Very d^collet^ ' does not express the whole 
fact, at all, with the Empress. She had about four inches of 
waist above the belt. She was, to use plain words, half -naked. 
So were her guests ; so,were her maids-of-honor ; we were all 
more or less half-naked. Either I should not much have 
cared to have my husband see me at that juncture, or I 
should have preferred to have him see me only ! 

" Then as to the enameling ! The Empress could no more 
have shown her natural face than changed the length of her 
D'Alba nose. Nor could any of the rest of us — we were 
enameled, roughed, daubed, plastered — artistically, of course, 
but nevertheless daubed and plastered. Felix, the wonderful 
' artist ' of the Eue St. Honore, made me up, coated me, fin- 
ished me off, as if I had been a building and he a stone- 
mason. I was very handsome, when he had done with me, 
but I was not myself by any manner of means ; I looked in 
the mirror, and fell in love with the girlish face that I saw 
there — something that I am not vain enough to do habitu- 
ally. So let it be understood that we all more or less wore 
masks that evening ; and if any of my hurried descriptions 
fail to convey an idea of the actual people, the fault will not 
be mine, but Felix's or that of some brother ' artist.' The 
descriptions will be of ivhat I saw. 

"And now to the Emperor and his special companion of 
the evening, the sister of the Czar — Grand Duchess Marie 
something, if I do not misremember the name. 

" The Emperor was among the best-dressed men present ; 
certainly among the most modest, in his plain black evening 
suit, with no startling ornament whatever, except the broad, 
red ribbon of Grand Commander of the Legion of Honor, 
which crossed his breast, and the great star of the Order, one 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 325 

side of wliicli showed from under his lapel. But oli, his 
face I that took away all thought from his garments ! He 
looked so listless, so lifeless, so distrait, so broken ! — so im- 
possible to be amused even by the pleasant attentions of the 
Grand Duchess, so much as if his thoughts were upon a 
distracted kingdom, a hostile Europe, a sick boy, and Maxi- 
milian in peril of his making ! And yet the face seemed 
nobler then than I had ever before seen it ; and more than 
once, yes, more than twice, when he folded his arms a little 
wearily and seemed to say : 'Ah me ! — I wish all this mock- 
ery was over !' the resemblance in face and figure to the 
pictures of the First Napoleon was startingly marked and 
suggestive. I caught myself asking, when the likeness struck 
me once and again — What does this mean ? Is it family, 
all? — or position? or something else about which people do 
not care to talk, and about which a mere guest at one of his 
balls had probably as well avoid gossiping ? 

"There was nothing special about the Eussian Grand 
Duchess, a tall, dark-haired woman of forty or fifty, with a 
pleasing manner, nothing marked except her diamonds, 
which were of wonderful size, profusion and lustre. The 
Emperor was evidently pleased with her, and as attentive 
as a distrait man could be, whose heart and brain were 
absorbed. 

" Next, by right of power, if for no other cause, came the 
King of Prussia, a tall man, young-looking for his advancing 
years, moustached and side- whiskered, scarcely seeming to 
have strength and stamina to command the success so literally 
showered upon him within the past two years. But perhaps 
— ah, here was the answer to my doubt, in the very tall man, 
plainly dressed, and with few decorations, who approached 
and took me by the hand in recognition of a previous pre- 
sentation. 



326 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

" Bismarck ! sliarp ringing Sclavonic-sounding name of a 
\ strange man, who is certainly one of the ' men of the day.' 
Very tall, as I have before said ; rather angular in figure ; 
blonde, bald, small-headed, moustached, with large protruding 
blueish-gray eyes ; his whole manner something that cannot 
be described, while it does not appear to be anything seriously 
different from the common — a manner urbane and corteous 
at will, but evidently capable of being something very 
different when the other side of the will is aroused, I found 
time and opportunity for a chat with the man who has given 
the first effectual check to the world's worst tyrant, Austria ; 
told him the truth, that I had rather made his acquaintance 
than that of any other man in Europe, and had the pleasure 
of being assured that such words from American lips were 
always welcome, as he felt fully convinced of the sympathy 
of the best American statesman with his efforts and policy ; 
and then the ' man of the day ' passed away into the whirl of 
other conversationists. 

" Here my eyes again catch the sweet azure orbs of Anna 
Murat De Mouchy, an American girl by birth and early 
residence, as you are aware; and I half forgive the Empress 
her affectation — if it v/as one — of being hungry to kiss her ! 
A perfect blue-eyed, sweet-faced blonde, of medium height, 
or perhaps a line less, looking twenty or twenty-two, with 
splendid neck and arms, altogether fine, plump figure, and a 
manner so sunshiny and genial that no wonder the Parisians 
sometimes call her '■La Petite Chaton,^ literally, 'the Pet 
Kitten,' She wore a blue tarlatane, with all her jewelry in 
large blue turquoises — a combination which would have been 
fearfully trying to most complexions ; but to hers — Eubens 
might have come back, specially to paint that exquisite 
propriety of form and adornment. 

" The Prince of Wales, in black evening dress, with the 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 327 

jeweled Star of the Garter his only decoration — looking 
manlier, and handsomer, and j^et less lovable than as we saw 
him when yet a mere boy. He has evidently more talent 
of a certain kind than we, or England, thought : it is sad to 
fear that the son of a noble father, and a good, even if 
crotchety mother, may be found to have less principle than 
had been hoped. The Prince of "Wales has filled too many 
mouths in Paris, during the season ; let ns turn to his sister — 

" 'Princess Alice of Great Britain and Ireland,' as she is 
designated in royal ceremonials ; a modestly-dressed and most 
lovable-looking girl, blonde, sweet-faced, and radiating the 
very soul of goodness in her smiles. Queen Yictoria is at 
least happy in her daughters. 

"Let me present a foil to the sweet young English prin- 
cess, in one whom I saw standing near her at a certain 
moment — the Princess Metternich, twenty-five or six, tall 
and angular, with an apish face, 'dressed to death' — as our 
mothers used to say — gaudily, and with too many diamonds; 
in the habit of driving a yellow chariot, and reputed to be 
' fast ' and shameless as she is hideously ugly. Ugh ! it is no 
trouble to turn away from Aer, in spite of the flash of her 
hereditary diamonds and that grand ball of, her own, in 
which she succeeded in vieing with the Eussian embassy, 
rivaling the Emperor as to cost and splendor, and making 
herself conspicuous to her fullest desire. Mem. — I did not 
go to that ball. I should like to have been caught putting 
myself under obligations to such a hostess! 

" Prince Napoleon, fat and quiet — they say he has been 
a good deal crushed, lately, though he may be only ' biding 
his time ' — his face a heavy First Napoleon, and his brow 
sombre. The Princess Clothilde, his wife, and as you re- 
member, a daughter of the King of Italy — looking as 
homely and as much like a short-nosed . brownie as ever, 



328 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

though good beyond a doubt, and beginning to show a fade 
suspicion. 

" Count de la Ferriere, First Chamberlain to the Emperor, 
Master of Ceremonies by right of his office, and by that far 
better right of being the very Admirable Crichton of all ac- 
complishments. The Count must be fifty or fifty-five, but 
looks younger— gray, with a fine profile, the courtliest man- 
ners imaginable, and considered the handsomest gentleman at 
court. He has the reputation of having been the most suc- 
cessful in his attentions to American ladies, of any living 
Frenchman. 
*■»*** * s**** 

" The Emperor and Empress did not dance. The latter 
was, no doubt, prevented by the ill health of the Prince Im- 
perial, and the former by his own ill health and the unfor- 
tunate Mexican perils just then — though we did not know 
how nearly — closing around poor Maximilian. Of course 
QO one else danced before or at the same time with the royal 
party, for which two quadrilles of eight commenced at about 
eleven o'clock, led by the Prince of Wales and other youth- 
ful potentates in embryo. There was nothing peculiar in 
these quadriJJes, for monarchy ' kicks up its heels' very 
much like common humanity — except that the many gems 
and jeweled orders produced a brilliant effect when in 
motion, and that the lovely Princess Metternich tripped 
during the course of it, fell sprawling, and raised another of 
those general commotions from which I would always prefer 
to be excused, even if I had more grace than she to make 
the operation less embarrassing ! 

" The opening quadrilles over, as if there had been some 
arduous labor demanding recompense, came the distribution 
of presents to the favored participators— elegant little bou- 
quets of the rarest and costliest flowers, shaped into symbols 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 329 

of various orders and held together by gemmed ribbons. 
Then, ' the King of Persia having dined, the rest of the 
world might go to dinner ;' the royal party returned to 
their dais, to the Aladdin balcony or the reserved gardens, 
where living flowers, fountains, concealed music, and all the 
other appliances of luxury, made up the most perfect dream 
of enchantment — or mingled with guests on the floor, and 
dancing became as general as the severe rules of etiquette 
and the limited number allowed to take the floor at once, 
could well permit. But the truth is — and you may print 
this in smaller type, as a secret, if you like — ihoX flirting is 
quite as much the business of a Parisian ball, as dancing ; so 
that the rules did not press with undue severity. 

" I have said that the dancing began at about eleven. It 
was about one when the company moved from the grand 
salon to the great dining-hall, ushered with the same cere- 
monies which had marked their entrance. 

" Scarcely the ' company ' however — only a part of it ; not 
more than two or three hundred found place in that magnifi 
cent banqueting hall of the Tuileries, with its repletion of 
frescoes, gilding, flowers, and waxen illuminations. After 
the guests were seated with the due order of precedence, at 
tables radiant with every variety of costly service, and 
loaded with (hot) soups, meats, and costly confections — the 
imperial party were announced and passed through in a 
body to the separate dining-hall provided for them at one 
side of the great hall — the guests rising and cheering with 
much enthusiasm as they passed, whether in honor of roy- 
alty, or at the near prospect of supper I confess that I did 
not stop to inquire, though I gave my little woman's cheer 
with the rest ! 

"This imperial dining-hall, at the left, was raised a little 
above the main hall, and full glimpses could be caught of it 



330 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

through the open doors, while the supper was in progress. 
It was splendidly decorated with flowers, fountains over 
which gauze prevented undue dampness from filling the at- 
mosphere, the flags of the different nations, etc. ; while it 
was worth something to see, for once, what are the meanings 
of the phrases ' plate' and ' table service,' when they apply 
to gold, silver-gilt, gem-incrustations and lavish splendor 
generally, devoted to the satisfying of royal palates. But I 
said that monarchs danced like other mortals ; so they ate 
and drank, as we observed them through the open doors — 
with no more of dignity than the occupants of the great hall, 
and I fancy without keener appetite; for there is nothing 
better calculated to sharpen the taste than dancing, fatigue, 
and supper at half-past one. 

" My rambling story of the Grand Ball to the Czar — and I 
fear it has been a dry one — is nearly over. It only remains 
to say that the large number of other guests, who failed to 
reach the great hall, were otherwise accommodated ; that 
after supper we were ushered into another apartment, where 
ices, jellies, and the most delicate of cooling confections 
awaited us ; that dancing was resumed on return from 
supper, and continued until half-past three — the royal party 
leaving somewhat earlier, perhaps at half-past two ; that 
again, on leaving, came the Master of Ceremonies, the accu- 
rate and yet not disagreeable formalities, the wonderful at- 
tendance, the lights, flowers, and music of entrance, the regu- 
lated crush of carriages without, even a few of the glaring 
and defiant faces staring into the carriages as we rolled away 
up the Eue Eivoli or through the Place des Pyramides." 




832 



XXI. 
THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDEl^S. 

I. 

THE JAEDIN ZOOLOGIQUE D'ACCLIMATATION. 

At the northern angle of the Bois de Boulogne is an en- 
closed garden, about five acres in extent, which has been 
given to the Societe d' Acclimatation for the purposes of a 
Zoological Garden. It was opened to the public in 1860, and 
since then considerable additions have been made to it. It 
is handsomely laid out, and is provided with every conveni 
ence necessary to the attainment of the objects of the Society 
controlling it. It contains an extensive greenhouse, two 
large aviaries, a heated nursery for rearing silk-worms, 
aquariums, paddocks, houses for beasts, and dwellings for the 
keepers. The admission fee is one franc for persons on foot. 
The principal entrance is at the eastern extremity, near the 
Porte des Sablons, but there is another entrance at the 
western extremity, near the Madrid Porte. 

There are no wild beasts, according to the usual acceptation 
of the term, in this garden ; but here may be seen, perhaps, 
the most complete and extensive collection in Europe, of 
animals and living vegetables utilized by man in different 
climates ; animals of labor, for food, hunting, amusement, or 
luxury. With the aid of a catalogue, a most instructive 
morning or afternoon, or even several days, may be spent here. 

333 



334 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Entering by the principal gateway your attention is first 
called to the Magnanerie, or Silk- Worm Nursery. You will 
see here every species of silk-worm that has yet been intro- 
duced into Europe, and the arrangement is such that you can 
study them at your leisure. The nursery is situated in the 
midst of a grove of mulberry, oak and other trees used for 
bearing food for the silk-worms. 

The great Aviary is sixty-eight yards long by five yards 
wide, and is composed of twenty-one divisions and two 
pavilions, glazed and warmed. Here are collected birds 
of almost every species. They live very harmoniously 
together, and form one of the finest collections in the world. 
The ostriches and cassowaries have separate parks. 

The poultry-house is one hundred yards long, and contains 
fifty-six compartments. In front are the fancy poultry and 
pheasants, and behind, the farm and breeding varieties. 

The stables are situated at the bottom of the garden, and 
contain a splendid collection of zebras, yaks, zebus, tapirs, 
and other animals. Among them is a fine specimen of the 
American Bison. 

One of the principal, as well as one of the most valuable 
features of the place, is the Aquarium in the southern portion 
of the garden. It was constructed under the direction of M. 
Lhoyd, Avho is famous for works of this kind, and is devoted 
to the study of the manners and habits of the denizens of the 
sea and fresh water. It contains fourteen reservoirs, rectangu- 
lar in shape. One of the walls of each reservoir is formed 
of a pure sheet of Saint Gobain glass, which admits light, 
and permits the study of the fish, shell fish and molhisks. 
The light is graduated differently for each reservoir, and is, 
as nearly as possible, the exact degree to which the inmates 
of the case are accustomed in their native haunts. By means 
of a machine placed behind the aquarmm the sea water is 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 335 

distributed to the dijGferent reservoirs, and then withdrawn, 
purified, supplied with fresh air, and brought to a tempera- 
ture suited to the animals for which it is intended. Nothing 
can be more beautiful than the creatures contained in these 
marvellous cases which are made to resemble the bed of the 
ocean bj being supplied with miniature rocks and marine 
vegetation. The sea anemones are exquisite, and far more 
wonderful than anything art has ever produced. The coral 
insects toil busily under your very eyes, and you may become 
as well acquainted here with the inhabitants of old ocean, 
and note their ways and mode of life as well, as if you were 
yourself a resident of Neptune's briny kingdom. 

The collection of mammalia is provided with separate 
buildings, and artificial mounds, rocks, and crags have been 
erected for the use of the goats, antelopes, etc. They are 
provided with observatories from which excellent views of 
the grounds may be obtained. 

A commodious cage, enclosed and properly warmed in 
cold weather, contains the parrots and other tropical birds. 

The Grand Serve, or Hot House, near the cliief entrance is 
provided with reading and refreshment rooms, and forms the 
principal winter attraction of the place. 

There is also a garden of experiment, in which all new 
vegetables sent to the Society are cultivated, for the purpose 
of ascertaining whether they can be accustomed to the 
climate and soil of the country. A full and satisfactory 
trial is given to each plant, and a strict record kept concern- 
ing it. 

The transactions of the Society are of the greatest interest 
in a scientific point of view, and the curious reader is referred 
to them for further information concerning the experiments 
and general conduct of the garden. 



336 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 




Cages of Wild Animals. 



II. 

THE JAEDIN PES PLANTES. 

The Garden of Plants, or Museum of Natural History, is 

situated on tlie south side of the Seine, opposite the Pont 
_ - - __,_, d'Austerlitz. It is both a Zo- 

ological and Botanical Garden. 
In either respect it is inferior 
to the English gardens for 
similar purposes, but is still 
extremely interesting. 

In 1626, Louis XIII. gave 
orders for the establishment 

here of a Botanical Garden, which was opened in 1650. It 

was called the King's Garden until the Eevolution, and this 

name was reapplied to it at the Restoration. It was in fine 

condition until about 1715, when it commenced to decline. 

Buffon was then placed over 

it as Intendant, and he not 

only restored it to its original 

usefulness and prosperity, but 

made many improvements in 

it, and added greatly to its 

collections. In 1794, the royal 

menageries at Versailles and 

Raincy were transferred to it, 

and its zoological feature thus 

established. Considerable ad- 

ditions were made to the 

collection of birds and animals Aquatic Birds. 

during the early part of the present century but since 1830, 

very little has been done in this respect. 




PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 




Aviary. 



The garden, which covers an area of seventy-seven acres, 

is "comprised between the Quai Saint Bernard and the Place 

Walhubert on the north- 
east, the Eue Ouvier on the 
northwest, the Eue Geoffroy 
Saint Hillaire on the south- 
west, and the Rue Buftbn 
on the southeast. The 
principal entrance is on 
the Place Walhubert, fac- 
ing the Pont d'Austerlitz. 
The garden comprises three 

grand longitudinal walks (two of linden trees planted by 

Buffbn, and one of horse chestnuts); the transversal walks 

are planted with acacias, medlars, and exotic trees. On 

the side of the E,ue Buffon, are four thickets of large 

walnut trees, a nursery ground, a Cafe restaurant^ a library, 

and the botanical, geological, 

and mineralogical galleries. 

At the extremity of the 

garden, between the library 

and the zoological galleries, 

which are beside the Rue 

Geofi'roy Saint Hillaire, is 

the ancient house inhabited 

by Baffon from 1773 up to 

his death. Between the two 

grand walks of lindens from 




Sheep House. 



the Quai Saint Bernard up to the galleries of zoology, are 

the alimentary, industrial, and medicinal plants; the schools 

of alimentary and industrial plants ; the school of economical 

plants ; parterres of annual ornamental plants ; the Chaptal 

squares for ornamental evergreens, separated by a circular 
22 



338 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 




The Elephant House. 



basin, adorned with indigenous aquatic plants. A railing 
separates these squares from the zoological galleries. On the 

left, returning toward the 
quay, are pavilions of hot 
houses, squares for the 
botanical school, and a basin 
for aquatic plants. In the 
fourth part of the garden, 
bounded by the horse chest- 
nut tree walk and the Eue 
Cuvier, are the menagerie, 
the school of fruit trees, the 
reptile house, the cabinet of 
comparative anatomy, the 
houses of Cuvier and of Geofiroy Saint Hillaire, the amphi- 
theatre, offices, etc. 

" The English garden compris- 
es the orangery, the gardens of 
naturalization and of seed, the 
little hillock and the labyrinth. 
It is bounded by a terrace over- 
looking the Eue Geofiroy Saint- 
Hillaire. In the parks of the 
menagerie, and the neighboring 
walks are hardy trees which 
can endure the winter season in 
the open air. 

" In the Menagerie (with a lit- 
tle rivulet describing various 
winding turns from east to west) can be seen the cages for 
wild animals, in an interior court, a kennel for wolves and 
mongrel dogs (a ticket is necessary to visit this court and 
the interior galleries, the cages, the staWes, the reptile and 




Amphitheatre. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



339 




The Bear Pit. 



monkey houses); a vast iron cage of circular construction for 
tlie monkeys, outside of tlie building wliich contains their 

winter quarters, as also the 
cages for rodents ; a polygonal 
for the large herbivora; pits 
for the bears, alongside the 
alley of horse chestnut trees ; 
an enclosure with a basin for 
the aquatic birds ; aviaries for 
poultry, and cages for birds 
of prey." 

The Museums of Zoology, 
Mineralogy, Geology, and Bot- 
any are exceedingly interesting and valuable. The Library 
contains 70,000 works on natural history, besides a large 
collection of colored drawings of plants, animals, etc. 

The Museum of Comparative Anatom,y is on the north side 
of the garden, near the Amphitheatre, and is the largest in 
Europe. It was first formed and arranged by Cuvier, and 
received his greatest and most constant care during liis life. 
" The rooms on the ground floor contain skeletons of whales 

and of the larger quadrupeds ; „-=*-,,^^-..==. 

and the upper floor, consisting 
of several apartments, skele- 
tons of the smaller quadru- 
peds, birds, reptiles, and fishes. 
These rooms contain nothing 
repulsive or objectionable for 
ladies. A hall on the ground Monkey L'a.cro. 

Aoor is set apart for human skeletons of the different races ;■ 
the most remarkable are those of the dwarf B(:?bd, of tho 
Hottentot Venus, of the Mussulman fanatic who assassinated 
General Kleber in Egypt ; and in the corresponding one on 




340 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

the floor above a collection of skulls of quadrupeds, birds, 
reptiles, etc. ; in the other rooms are skeletons of the smaller 
animals, and preparations to show the growth of teeth, or 
dentition ; and a vast series of others of comparative anatomy 
in spirits of wine, models of wax, etc. At the end of this, is 
the Phrenological Collection, formed bj Gall, consisting of 
casts of the heads of men of eminence and genius, and of 
notorious criminals, skulls, busts, etc. From here we enter 
into the Ethnological Collection, a comparatively modern crea- 
tion, which fills a series of rooms that surround the court, 
the object being the history of the different races of mankind: 
in it are preserved an extensive series of casts of the heads 
of different races, their skulls, etc., made during the several 
scientific expeditions sent out of late 5''ears by France ; as a 
whole this part of the Museum is unique as illustrative of the 
races of man, from every country, and in all their varieties. 

" Attached to the Zoological, Mineralogical, and anatomi- 
cal collections are laboratories and lecture rooms. To the 
chemical chair are attached extensive laboratories, to which 
young men are admitted almost gratuitously to perform 
manipulations, a most useful and liberal innovation here. In 
the summer season some fifteen hundred students attend the 
different lectures, which are wholly gratuitous. The most 
eminent naturalists in France have always been attached to 
this institution. There are fifteen lecturers, amongst whom 
Milne-Edwards, Flourens, Darchiac, Chevreuil, Quatrefages, 
"Decaisne, Bronquiart, Becquerel, Fremy, Daubree, are at the 
present day the most celebrated." 

The garden is open to the public every day in the year 
from about ten o'clock in the morning until six in the even- 
ing. It is generally filled with visitors, the French are very 
proud of the collection of wild beasts, and come in crowds to 
gaze at the animals, especially about the hour for feeding 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 341 

them. The principal points of attraction are the Bears' Pit, 
and the large circular cage of Monkeys. To a foreign eye 
there is a wonderful similarity between the little beasts that 
scamper around the interior of the cage, and the little chil- 
dren that crowd around the exterior. 

The Museums are all shown under certain restrictions. 
Tickets of admission are necessary to obtain entrance to the 
majority of them. Some of the more valuable collections 
are shown only to persons with special cards from the pro- 
fessors of the schools to which they belong. These cards or 
permissions may be obtained very easily, however, as the 
officers of the various schools take great pleasure in showing 
them to strangers who will appreciate them. Any of the 
numerous guide books to the city will furnish all the neces- 
sary information as to the manner of procuring cards, the 
hours for visiting the Museums, etc. Several of the collec- 
tions are shown only on certain days of the week. 



X X 1 1. 

THE LOUYRE. 
I. 

HISTORICAL. 

" Paeis contains many beautiful palaces," says Ferdinand 
de Lasteyrie, " but the true palace of Paris, the true palace 
of France, is, by common consent, the Louvre. In the eyes 
of the French it is more than a palace — it is a sanctuary. 
All the glories of the country centre here. The greatness of 
kings is almost cast in the shade by the glories of art." 

The Louvre, strictly speaking, comprises that immense 

pile of buildings enclosing a square court, which lies on the 

right bank of the Seine, between the river and the Rue de 

Rivoli, and which faces the church of Saint Germain I'Aux- 

errois, on the east, and the Place du Carrousel and the 

Tuileries, on the west. It must not be confounded with the 

Louvre Gallery^ which connects it with the Tuileries, on the 

south or river side, nor the ranges which answer a similar 

purpose on the side of the Rue de Rivoli. In the engraving 

called, " A Bird's-Bye Yiew of the Louvre," the reader will 

observe the old palace, which forms a square at the left 

of the picture. The open space, crossed by a railing and 

adorned with a triumphal arch, is the Place du Carrousel. 

The smaller square between this and the Louvre, is the Place 

Napoleon III. The range of buildings which forms the right 
342 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 343 

hand boundary of tlie immense pile represented in the en- 
graving, is the Palace of the Tuileries. 

In the days of King Dagobert, a hunting-lodge or castle 
was built on the site of the present palace, then far beyond 
the city limits,, and called Louveterie^ or Wolf-hunting Estahlish- 
tnent. In 1200, Philip Augustus rebuilt it as a fortress for 
the defence of that portion of the city wall which touches the 
Seine, on the north side, here. He also used it as a prison of 
State in which he shut up his rebellious vassals, the great 
nobles of France ; an example which his successors were not 
slow in imitating. Charles V. (1361-1380) made it his treas- 
ury and his library. It was a picturesque old pile, a collec. 
tion of towers in a style of architectare of which the sharp- 
pointed turrets of the Palace of Justice are the best remaining 
examples. Charles did not persist in his intention to make 
it a royal residence, however, but built the Hutelde Saint Pol,, 
and removed there shortly before his death. Charles VII. 
made the Tournelles palace his residence, and his example 
was followed hy all his successors down to Francis II., the 
son of Henry II. 

Francis I. found the old Louvre very greatly in need of 
repairs, for it had seen hard service since Charles the Fifth's 
day, and he determined to demolish the old castle, and 
replace it with a palace which should be a fit dwelling for 
the kings of France. The castle was accordingly palled 
down, in 1527, and in 1541, the work upon the palace was 
begun under the supervision of the architect, Pierre Lescot. 
At the death of Francis, which occurred in 1547, the western 
wing (facing the present Place ISTapoleon III.), the oldest part 
of the palace of to-day, was but partially completed, and the 
south wing, which borders the Seine, was just begun. It 
was the architect's plan to make the palace a four-sided 
edifice, as it now stands, and he employed the twelve years 



344 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

of the reign of Henry II. in completing the western wing, 
and carrying the southern up to the first floor. 

After the death of Henry II., his widow Catharine de 
Medicis, pulled down the Tournelles palace, and came to the 
Louvre to live. She occupied the western wing, or " Old 
Louvre," as it is now called, and the lower floor of the 
southern, the upper rooms being still unroofed. At the end 
of the second year of her residence here, she determined to 
extend the palace nearer to the river, and abandoning the 
plan of Lescot, employed an architect, who built the wing 
which extends from the main building to the river at a right 
angle with Lescot's south wing. She did not entirely com- 
plete it, however, but during the latter portion of the time 
she ruled France, gave her attention and her money to the task 
of building the Palace of the Tuileries. It was in the half 
finished palace of the Louvre that the nuptials of Henry of 
Navarre, and Margaret of Valois, were solemnized in 1572, 
in the presence of the principal leaders of the Huguenot 
party, just five days before the massacre of Saint Barthol- 
omew. It was from the southern window of the wing which 
stretches out to the quay, that Charles IX. is said to have 
stood on that memorable night, and fired at the Protestants 
who were seeking safety in flight by the river side. The 
wing was left unfinished by Catharine, and was in this con- 
dition when Henry lY. came to the throne. He completed 
it, and began the long gallery which connects the Louvre 
with the Tuileries on the side of the river. The latter palace 
was without the walls of the city at this time, and the king's 
object in building the connecting gallery is said to have been 
to provide a safe and easy means of escaping from Paris in 
case he should meet with the troubles that had so harassed 
his predecessor. The gallery was finished sujEficiently for 
him to walk through it before his death. After his assassina 




ii!iiiii;;:ii>'i.ii'.|i''.,i;iiiii];iiiiii|!!ii;i;:'iri' 



345 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 347 

tion by Eavaillac, his body was brought to the Louvre, and 
here he breathed his last and was laid in state in one of the 
rooms of the western wing. 

Louis XIII. did little toward completing the palace, but 
his son, Louis XIV., determined to make it a monument of 
his glory. He built the eastern wing and the magnificent 
colonnade which ornaments its eastern front. The architect 
•of this reign was the physician Perrault. The north wing along 
the Eue de Eivoli also dates from this time. The palace 
was still left unfinished, however, at the death of Louis XIV., 
and remained in that condition until the middle of the Bighth- 
teenth Century. The work was resumed again under Louis 
XVI., but was discontinued by the Eevolution. In 1803 
Napoleon I. determined to use the Louvre as a Museum for 
the treasures of art he had taken in his wars. Under him 
the palace was entirely finished, and the gallery of Henry IV., 
repaired and completed according to the original plan. He 
also began the range of buildings which connects the Louvre 
with the Tuileries, on the side of the Eue de Eivoli. He 
placed here the works of art he had captured, but upon his 
downfall they were claimed and carried away by their 
original owners. 

In 1830, the Louvre was assaulted on the side of the 
colonnade by the insurgents who dethroned Charles X., and 
captured by them after a gallant defence by the Swiss Guards. 
The assailants who were killed, were originally buried in tho 
pretty gardens which face the Church of Saint Germain 
I'Auxerrois, but their remains were subsequently removed, 
and placed beneath the Column of the Bastille. 

Louis Philippe did much for the Louvre, but the Eepublic 
of 18-18 did nothing for it. The Emperor Napoleon III., 
however, has atoned for this neglect. He has repaired the 
parts that had fallen to decay, has almost entirely rebuilt 



348 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

several portions, has cleared away all the streets and build- 
ings which stood between this palace and the Tuileries, and 
has completed the gallery or range which connects it with 
the Taileries on the north side. Besides this, he has entirely 
rebuilt the range on the river side from the present Picture 
Gallery to the Tuileries. The interior buildings which 
bound the Place Napoleon III., are also the work of the 
present reign. Besides this, the Emperor has carried the' 
Eue de Rivoli far beyond the palace, and has greatly enlarged 
the Place du Louvre^ thus clearing away the mass of houses 
which surrounded the old pile and allowing its beauties to 
be seen. 

II. 

DBSCRIPTIYE. 

The palaces of the Tuileries and the Louvre together with 
the spaces which they enclose, cover an area of sixty acres. 

The term Louvre is commonly applied to the entire struc- 
ture east of the Tuileries, and as such I shall describe it. 

The Colonnade of the Louvre occupies the eastern front of 
the palace, and faces the Place du Louvre. It is five hundred 
and four feet long and eighty-two feet high, and rests upon a 
ground story, the front of which is singularly plain and bare 
of ornament. Above it is an open balustrade the pedestals 
.of which are, according to the original plan, to be ornamented 
with trophies. This part of the plan, however, still remains 
to be carried out. The tympanum of the central pediment 
is decorated with a bass-relief representing Minerva in the 
act of placing the bust of Louis XIV. on a pedestal, while 
History is engraving the dedication, Ltidovico Magno. Under 
the empire there was sculptured above the principal doorway, 
SI statue of Fame in a chariot conducted by genii. The col- 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 349 

onnade consists of twenty-eight double Corinthian pillars. 
The facade which it adorns, " by the beautiful symmetry of its 
parts, the fine execution of its ornaments, the just economy 
of their distribution, and by the imposing grandeur of its 
extent, is justly admired as a chef d'ceuvre in the architecture 
of the age of Louis XIV. The southern front is also very 
fine. Like the eastern front it has a highly ornamental 
pediment, and is beautifully decorated with forty Corinthian 
pilasters. The northern front consists of a central pavilion, 
with two lateral ones, slightly but tastefully ornamented. 
The western front is intended to harmonize with the build- 
ings erected in the Place Napoleon. Within the Court, the 
top and bottom stories of this fa9ade have been adopted as 
patterns for the corresponding ones of the other sides of the 
quadrangle. The lower story is composed of a series of 
circular arcades, divided by Corinthian pilasters, with a 
lofty window beneath each arch. The windows of the 
second story are tastefully adorned with carved and tri- 
angular pediments, a pillar of the composite order dividing 
each window from the one adjoining. The windows of the 
upper story are splendidly ornamented with groups in sculp- 
ture, trophies, etc. The principal gateway to the Louvre 
occupies the centre of this fagade, and bears the name of the 
Pavilion de VHorloge. This pavilion is surmounted, by a 
quadrangular dome, supported by gigantic Caryatides by 
Sarrazin. The various projections of this side are richly 
ornamented with sculpture. All the gateways are surmoun- 
ted by pediments, which have in their tympans sculptures by 
Couston, Kamey, and Lesueur. Two ranges of Doric pillars, 
fluted, with a carriage road in the middle, form the southern 
entrance; pillars of different styles of the Ionic order, distin- 
guish those of the northern and western ; Doric, those of the 
eastern vestibule. The Court of the Louvre is also equally 



350 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

striking, as being one of the finest in Europe. It is lighted 
by twenty-four beautiful bronze lamps ; its centre laid out 
in bitumen, bordered with beds of grass and shrubs, and sur- 
rounded with a low railing of cast iron. A series of gardens 
enclosed by elegant iron railings, ornamented with laurel 
wreaths encircling the imperial 'N.' surround the whole of 
the palace, terminating at the new wing opposite the Rtie de 
Eivoli. 

" The southern wing contains the Imperial stables, in 
which, among other horses, are those ridden by the Emperor 
at Solferino and Magenta ; and the new Salle des Etats, one 
hundred and thirty-eight feet long and sixty-nine wide, where 
the chief bodies of the State are received by him. It com- 
municates with the picture galleries. The inauguration of 
the new Louvre took place here in 1857. A series of galler- 
ies runs to the eastward from the Salle Egyptien entirely 
round the building." 

III. 
THE MUSEUMS OF SCULPTURE. 

The Museums of Sculpture are situated on the ground 
floor of the palace, and occupy the larger portion of the great 
quadrangle. They comprise sculptures of every period and 
country, and form one of the most valuable and interesting 
collections in the world. They are five in number. 

I. The Museum of Ancient Sculpture [Musee des Marbres 
Antiques). The visitor enters the palace by the principal 
entrance in the Pavilion Sully, or the old " Clock Tower." 
Turning to the right he passes into the beautiful Salle des 
Caryatides. This room and those which adjoin it were occii- 
pied by Henry II., Henry III., Charles IX., and Henry IV., 
for the ceremonies of their Courts. Here Catharine de Medi- 






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351 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 353 

CIS, of infamous memory held her Court, here Henry of 
Navarre was married to Margaret of Valois, and here his 
body was laid in state after his assassination. In 1594 the 
Duke of Gruise hanged four of the chief Leaguers in this hall, 
and in 1659 Moli^re had his theatre here. The hall derives 
its name from the four colossal caryatides which support the 
gallery at the northern end. They are the master-pieces of 
the great sculptor Jean Goujon, who was shot here at his- 
work during the massacre of Saint Bartholomew. The- 
statues and busts in this hall are principally of the Eoman. 
period. Here are the famous Borghese Yase ; the statues of 
Jason and Germanicus, the latter being one of the most per- 
fect ancient statues in existence ; and the celebrated Her- 
maphrodite from the Borghese collection. 

Leading from the Hall of the Caryatides is a suite of apart- 
ments dating, it is said, from the year 1380. They are orna-- 
mented very mAich as they were during the days of Catharine 
de Medicis, and are filled with a number of very ordinary 
Eoman works of art. The best of the whole collection is- 
the beautiful Venus of Milo, found on the Island of Milo, in. 
1820. It stands in one of the halls of the south wing. The 
halls which form the ground floor of the wing which borders 
the Seine, parallel to the fagade of the palace, contain some of 
the best Eoman sculptures in the collection. They are now 
in process of reconstruction, and access to them is sometimes- 
denied. 

Complete and well arranged catalogues of all the collections- 
of the palace are always for sale at the entrance to the muse- 
ums. They are in English as well as French, and are indis- 
pensable to any one wishing to obtain a comprehensive ideai 
of the collections. 

II. TJie Museum of Egyi^tian Sculptures^ occupies the south- 
ern part of the eastern wing of the palace. The entrance to 
23 



354 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

it is under the gateway which faces the Place du Louvre. 
The collection is very full and interesting, and abounds in 
sculptures of the kings of the eighteenth dynasty, and in 
specimens discovered in the sepulchral pits of Lower Egypt, 
by M. Mar'ctte. The hall containing the collection is itself 
a beautiful work of art, and is richly worthy of examination. 
Here are statues and sphinxes of the great Kings of Egypt, 
from as early a date as the eighteenth dynasty, or fifteen 
hundred years before Christ. Here is the famous black 
statue of Eemeses the Great, and a sphinx of tbe same 
celebrity ; the Sarcophagus of Eemeses III., the head and 
feet of the colossal statue of Amenophis III., and the cele- 
brated black bull Apis, which still retains traces of its origi- 
nal coloring, besides many others which it is impossible to 
mention. Many of the specimens are colossal in size, and 
are amongst the finest of their kind. 

Between the halls occupied by the Egyptian Museum, 
and the outer wall of the eastern wing, is a narrow gallery 
containing mosaics, inscriptions, and sculptures of the Roman 
period found in Algeria and on the North Coast of Africa, 
including Egypt. It is called the Algerian Museum. 

III. The Assyrian Miiseum occupies the ground floor of the 
northern portion of the eastern wing of- the palace. The en- 
trance is opposite that of the Egyptian Museum. The collec- 
tion is very extensive, and consists, in a great measure, of 
the specimens found at Nineveh, by M. Botta. It ranks 
next to that in the British Museum in size and importance. 
" The great hall contains numerous bass-reliefs, and human 
headed bulls, in the style with which we have been rendered 
familiar by Mr. Layard's celebrated discoveries. Beyond 
this is a smaller hall, dedicated to Greek sculpture from Asia 
Minor ; it is called the Salle du Vase de Pergamc, from the 
fine vase, with sculptured bass-reliefs, discovered at Pergamus. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 355 

Around the walls are numerous bass-reliefs from the Temple 
of Artemys Leucophris (Diana) at Magnesia. A door opens 
on the left into a suite of three halls ; in the two first are 
smaller Nineveh reliefs, and casts from those in the British 
Museum, objects from Nineveh ; and numerous Phoenician 
Sarcophagi; one, in black granite, remarkable for its form and 
inscription, belonged to Bsmunanazar, a king of Saida, the 
others, in statuary marble, but Egyptian in form, each having 
a human head on the cover, were discovered at Byblus and 
Tortosa in Phoenicia. In the third room are numerous 
specimeos of Greek sculpture, chiefly from Asia Minor;" 
and other specimens of equal antiquity and value. * - * "In 
a small room opening out of this hall, stand two sepulchral 
urns of a very unusual form, discovered in what has been 
called the Tomb of the Kings, at Jerusalem ; one with an 
inscription in Hebrew, appears to have contained the body 
of a princess of Sidon of the third century of our era ; the 
other had been supposed, without much probability, to have 
contained the remains of King David. The sculptured orna- 
mentation, in low relief, on it, is curious." 

IV. The Museum of Sculpture of the Middle Ages or Renais- 
sance. This collection occupies the south wing of the palace, 
and consists chiefly of monuments, for the most part sepul- 
chral, which have been removed from the churches that 
were desecrated during the Great Ee volution. The specimens 
are arranged in five halls, each of which is named after the 
most famous artist of its respective period. Some of the 
specimens are valuable as works of art, but all are interesting 
in an historical point of view. 

Y. The Mv^eum of Modern Sculpture^ occupies the northern 
part of the west wing of the palace. This collection consists 
entirely of works by sculptors of the modern period, but 
contains nothing by any one now living. The death of the 



356 PAKIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

artist is an indispensable condition to the introduction of his 
works into this collection. Here are statues, busts, and 
sculptures of all kinds by Allegrain, Bouchardin, Hudon, 
Clodion, Pajou, Chaudet, Oortot, Gh. Dupaty, Bosio, Pradier, 
Bartolini, Oanova, Rude, and others. Here, indeed, are 
gathered the master- pieces of the modern French school, and 
many fine works by artists of other lands. 

One may see all the various collections on the lower floor 
in a day, but it will require a catalogue and a considerable 
amount of industry to accomplish the task. 



IV. 

THE PICTURE GALLERIES. 

The principal entrance to the picture galleries is through 
the Pavilion Sully. Ascending the massive stairs, which 
date from the reign of Henry II., you enter the Salle des 
AssemhUes. Here have been arranged the principal ierra-coita 
statuettes, votive ofierings, statues in the archaic style from 
Ardaea, Etruscan cinerary urns, etc., both in alabaster and 
earthenware, some with curiously painted bass-reliefs from 
Chiusi and Yolterra, tiles used in house decoration, with bass- 
reliefs, forming part of the Musee Napoleon TIL In the 
centre of the room are several Sarcophagi in rude earthenware, 
chiefly from Toscanella, near Viterbo ; the large fluted oil 
jars are from Cervetri — the ancient Cerse. This room is 
ornamented with a row of fine Corinthian columns, and is 
surrounded with an elegant wooden gallery. It is painted in 
antique red, and is lighted from the top. The adjoining 
apartment, towards the south, is called the Hall of Henry II., 
and dates from his reign. It is beautifully frescoed, and 
contains terra-cotta and alabaster specimens. Opening into 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 357 

it is the room called the Hall of the Seven Chimnies. This 
was the bed chamber of Henry of Navarre, and it was here 
that his body was brouglit after his death. It is filled with 
the master-pieces of the modern French school of painting. 
It was fitted up for this purpose during the reign of Louis 
Philippe, and contains some of the best works of David, 
Gdrard, Prudhon, Gros, Girodet, and Gu^rin. Here are the 
magnificent pictures of Leonidas at Thermopylse^ by David, 
Belisarius Begging at the Gates of Rome, by Gdrard, the Plague 
at Jaffa, by Gros, and the Burial of Atala, by Girodet. 

Leaving the Jffall of the Seven Chimnies by the western 
door, you enter the Salic de Passage, containing the Eoman 
and Etruscan jewelry of the Musde Napoleon III. Beyond 
that, still going west, is the Great Vestibule, or Rotunda, 
which opens on the right upon the Great Stairway. Tread 
lightly here, for this is holy ground. They brought the 
gallant Henry of Navarre up these stairs after the cowardly 
assassin had given him his mortal wound, in order to convey 
nim to his bed-chamber, and it was in this vestibule that his 
great soul passed away from earth. On the south side of the 
hall is a pair of magnificent steel doors constructed during 
the reign of Henry II., and opening into the Apollo Gallery, 
to which I shall presently refer. 

Passing through the upper landing of the stairway, you 
enter the Salle des Sept Metres, which contains the master- 
pieces of the Italian school. Many of the paintings have 
been greatly injured by retouching, but they are still wonder- 
ful in their beauty. To describe them requires a capacity 
superior to mine, and I shall not undertake the task. Every 
picture is by a master hand, and all are worth studying for 
hours. Raphael has none of his best works in this collection, 
«but there are one or two paintings here which the visitor 
acquainted with his works, will recognize at once. Paul 



368 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



Veronese, Titian, Guido, Tintoretto, Salvator Eosa, Andrea 
del Sarto, Leonardo da Vinci, Dominichino, and others of 
this wonderful school of art are represented in this collection, 
and in the adjoining portion of the Grreat Gallery devoted to 
Italian Art. 




The Louvre Gallery. 

The best pictures of this, as well as of the other schools 
however, must be sought in the Salon Carre, which precedes 
the long gallery and lies between it and the Apollo Gallery. 
In this room are placed the master-pieces of all the schools 
represented in the palace. The hall is magnificently decorated, 
and is a fitting casket for the rare treasures it contains. Here 
are Raphael's Holy Family, and his Belle Jardinnilre. Ah, 
those Madonnas I The artist must have been inspired when 
he put these wonderful faces on his canvass. You linger 
long here, and after you have seen the pictures contained in 
this room, you have little disposition to give the rest more 
than a hasty examination. 

The Great Gallery lies next to the Salon Carre, and opens 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 359 

into it. It occupies at present one half of the long range of 
buildings joining the Louvre to the Tuileries upon the river 
side. Parallel with it, and connected with it by lateral passa- 
ges, is the new gallery, which occupies the first floor of the 
new buildings bordering the Place Napoleon III., on the south 
side. The old gallery is filled with paintings of the Italian, 
Flemish, Dutch, and Spanish schools, and the new gallery 
contains the French schools of the Sixteenth, Seventeenth, 
and Eighteenth Centuries. The old gallery was originally 
thirteen hundred and twenty-two feet long, and thirty-nine 
feet wide, but at present a considerable portion of it has been 
closed for repairs. The portion now in use is divided into 
five parts, separated by arches springing from the roof, sup- 
ported by Corinthian columns and pilasters, the capitals and 
pedestals of which are of gilt bronze. It is also ornamented 
with a number of small marble columns of the Ionic, Doric, 
Corinthian, and Composite orders, and by twelve busts of the 
most celebrated painters. Candelabras, altars, and vases of 
the most exquisite workmanship, are also placed between the 
columns, and the effect of the tout ensemble is considerably 
heightened by immense looking-glasses placed in the inter- 
stices of the pilasters. The light is admitted through a 
richly ornamented roof, and the paintings have, by this 
means, the advantage of being all placed in the best point of 
view. 

Under Napoleon I., all Europe sent its treasures of art to 
fill this magnificent gallery, but upon the downfall of the 
great Conqueror in 1815, the original owners claimed their 
property, and the gallery was stripped of its most valuable con- 
tents. Here still remain, however, many of the most exquisite 
pictures in Europe. Eaphael, Titian, Caravaggio, Guido, 
Paul Veronese, Michael Angelo, Murillo, Jordacins, Breughel, 
Paul Potter, Rubens, Van Dyke, Quentin Metsis, Rem- 



360 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

brandt, aud others, shed their glories down this long hall. 
The splendors of the place must be seen to be appreciated. 

The French schools in the new gallery, running parallel 
with the old, contain some fine specimens of early French 
art. Boucher, Lebrun, Jean Cousin, David, Freminet, Claude 
Gellee, Frangois Gerard, Greuze, Pierre Guerin, Jean Jouve- 
net, Lancret, Pierre Mignard, Nicolas Poussin, Pierre Prud- 
hon, Leopold Kobert, Xavier Sigalon, Eustache Lesueur, 
Valentin, and Joseph Yien are well represented here. 

About half way down the present gallery, is the magnifi- 
cent Salle des JEtats used for the opening of the Legislative 
Chambers by the Emperor in person. The main entrance 
to it is from the Place Napoleon III. 

Along the galleries are numerous temporary stands, easels, 
etc., at which artists are constantly at work copying such 
paintings as they may have orders for, or hope to find pur- 
chasers for. Many of these workers are women. They are 
ugly and careless in their dress, and altogether unattractive 
specimens of their sex. 

The Louvre contains at present five hundred and fifty- 
eight paintings of the Italian schools, six hundred and eigh- 
teen of the German, Flemish, and Dutch schools, six hundred 
and fifty of the French school, and twenty of the Spanish 
school, making a total of eighteen hundred and forty-six 
paintings. 

Returning by the Great Gallery to the Salon Oarre^ you 
pass from it into the gorgeous Aj)ollo Gallery, the most 
magnificent apartment in the palace. It was constructed by 
Henry lA'^., but was burned in 1661. Louis XIV. restored it, 
and it was almost entirely reconstructed between 184:8 and 
1851. It occupies the entire first floor of the wing which 
stretches towards the Seine, and runs parallel with the west 
wirTtT of the Old Louvre. The ceiling is magnificently fres- 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 361 

coed, the centre-piece representing Apollo Destrojiing the 
Python. The walls are set with superb panels which con- 
tain portraits in Gobelin tapestry of the principal painters, 
sculptors, and architects of France. After its restoration by 
Louis Xiy., this hall was used as a picture gallery. At 
preseiit, however, it contains "the Musee de Bijoux., one of 
the finest of works of Renaissance plate and ornaments per- 
haps in existence. The different objects have been most 
tastefully arranged ; the jewelry and precious stones, Cellini 
work, etc., in a certain number of stands in the centre of the 
room ; the incomparable series of Limoges and other enamels 
on the sides. In this hall are several curious reliquaires, 
croziers, etc., the most remarkable being the Chasse, which 
contains the relics of St. Potentianus, Archbishop of Sens, 
of the Seventh Century, and a metal box which enclosed, ac- 
cording to the inscription, an arm of Charlemagne.'' The 
hall is one hundred and eighty-five feet long, and twenty- 
eight feet six inches wide. It was unfinished during the 
reign of Charles IX., but the lower story was in full use. 
The window at the southern end of the gallery opens upon a 
small balcony overlooking the quay. It was from this 
balcony that Charles IX. is said to have fired upon the fleeing 
Huguenots on the Eve of Saint Bartholomew. The Com- 
inline de Paris in the Year III., caused the following inscrip- 
tion to be placed above the window: — ^'- This is the window 
from which, the infamotis Charles IX.., of execrable memory, fired 
upon his people with a carbine.''^ The inscription remained 
there for several years, but was finally removed by Napoleo 
I. The A2)ollo Gallery formed one of the apartments of Anne 
of Austria during her occupation of the Louvre. 

Passing back through the Rotunda and the Hall of the 
Seven Chimnies, the visitor passes into the suite of magnifi- 
cent halls whiclj occupy the western part of the south wing. 



362 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

These halls were formerly devoted to the French schools of 
paintings, but now hold a division of the Musee Napoleon III., 
containing Eoman paintings, ancient glass, terra-cotta vases, 
forming the most valuable part of the Campana Museum, 
sculptures and inscriptions from Cyprus, Asia Minor, Pales- 
tine, etc. These rooms which were fitted up during the reigns 
of Charles X., and Louis Philippe, are very handsomely 
decorated ; the ceilings painted by the first artists of the day ; 
the subjects representing events connected with French 
history in their connection with the fine arts. 

The eastern half of the south wing is occ-apied by a double 
row of halls. The four which look out upon the quay contain 
the Museum of smaller Greek^ Roman and Etruscan Antiquities^ 
consisting of terra-cotta bass-reliefs, and figures of the Eoman 
period, of Etruscan or Italo Greek vases, of cinerary urns, etc. 

The four rooms which border the Court of the Louvre, at 
this end of the south wing, are occupied by the Museum of 
smaller Egyptian Antiqudties. This collection, together with 
that just named above, is commonly known as the Museum 
of Charles X., in consequence of these halls having been 
completed and applied to their present use during the reign 
of that sovereign. The rooms are fitted up with great beauty 
and taste. The paintings which adorn the ceiling are the 
work of Horace Yernet, Abel de Pugol, Picot, and Ingres. 
The walls are covered with hieroglyphics, bass-reliefs, and 
inscriptions. The cases contain smaller specimens of Egyp 
tian art and manufacture, such as vases, urns, statuettes, 
bronzes, jewelry, and articles for ornament and domestic use. 
A number of ancient manuscripts are also preserved here, 
and down the centre of several of the halls are ranged a fine 
(collection of coffins of mummies. Figures of the gods are 
numerous and are of all sizes. 



q 



2 




3oa 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT, 367 



THE MUSEUM OF SOVEEEIGNS. 

At the end of the last hall of the Egyptian Museum, the 
door opens into the vestibule of the main stairway of the 
southeastern part of the palace. Passing through the upper 
landing, you enter the southern portion of the east wing, 
which is known as the Museum of Sovereigns. It occupies 
that portion of the palace which Napoleon I. designed for a 
hall of reception. The first four apartments are filled with 
souvenirs of the monarchs of the old dynasty which ended 
with Louis XVI,, but the fifth hall is devoted exclusively to 
the Napoldon family. 

The first three apartments are fitted up with the carvings, 
wainscoting, etc., which once belonged to the royal apart- 
ments, and have been removed here for preservation. They 
are very beautiful, and are models of decorative art. The 
Vestibule contains the ceiling and wainscoting which once 
adorned the apartments of Anne of Austria, at the Chateau 
of Vincennes. The same apartment contains a fine portrait 
of this Queen, and also one of her husband, Louis XIII., said 
to be by Philippe de Champaigne. Several exquisite Sevres 
vases are amongst the other ornaments. 

The first room in the Museum is the famous " Alcove 
Chamber," used by Henry IV. as his bed-room. The car- 
vings, ceiling, walls, and floors, together with all the appoint- 
ments of the room, originally belonged to the Rail of the 
Seven Chimnies, in the Old Louvre, and were brought here 
piece by piece. All the workmanship here dates from the 
reign of the great king for whose use they were made, and 
remain just as he left them. The ceiling is beautifully 
carved, aud the room is adorned with various devices of 



ii(58 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

King Henrj. Over the mantel is ,a full-length portrait of 
Marie de Medicis, the second wife of this king, copied from 
the original, by Porbus ; and on the opposite wall is a por- 
trait of the monarch himself. It is one of the most thoroughly 
interesting rooms in the palace.* In the alcove stands a 
silver statue of Henry IV., when a boy. 

The next room (going towards the Eue de Eivoli) is the 
Parade Ghamher. It is decorated with fine wainscotings, 
silk tissues, and gold and silver stuffs, imitating paintings in 
distemper. The subjects represented are the history of 
Deborah. The eastern wall is ornamented with the altar of 
the Order of the Holy Ghost, founded by Henry II., and 
near it are the mantles of State, and several other objects 
relating to the history of that Order. The reader will remem- 
ber that this Order* was regarded by the Bourbons as the 
most illustrious in France. Candidates for admission to it 
were required to show proof of one hundred consecutive 
years of nobility. When Napoleon I. landed in France, on 
his return from Elba, the officer who commanded the detach- 
ment sent to stop him at Grenoble, had decorated himself 
with the cross of this Order. It was a decoration peculiarly 
distasteful to the army, and it deprived the officer of what 
little influence he had over his command at the beginning 
of his march. 

The next room is called the Hall of the Monarchy^ and is 
adorned with fine paintings. It was arranged in its present 
style in 1852, and contains articles which have belonged 
to many of the sovereigns from the days of Childeric I., 
down to Napoleon I. It will be impossible to mention 

*The reader will not forget that this portion of the Louvre dates 
from the reign of Louis XIY. Only the interior work of the rooms 
of this Museum, brought here from th« old Louvre, belong to the pre- 
ceding reigns. 



TARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 369 

all, and I shall content myself with naming only the most 
important. 

Amongst the Merovingian antiquities are the head of the 

ance and the battle-axe of Childeric I. ; the Golden Sun of 

Leo, Emperor of the East ; and the throne of King Dagobert. 

The last is richly carved, and is partly of gilt. The relics of 

Childeric date from the year 481. 

Amongst the Carlovingian antiquities are the sword and 
spurs of the great Charlemagne, and his Evangelarium. The 
settings of the sheath and belt of the sword are of gold, and 
the spurs are evidently those of a man accustomed to " ride 
rough shod " over the world. The Evangelarium is a manu- 
script of the Gospels, written on vellum, and in^Latin. It is 
a queer old document, and is yellow and faded with age. 
Near it are the Psalter and Bible of Charles-le-Chauve (the 
Bald), also written on vellum and in Latin. They date from 
the year 850. 

The collection of Capetian antiquities is very full and 
interesting. It contains, amongst other relics, the Hand of 
Justice, carried by the Kings of the third Dynasty at their 
consecrations and coronations; a Vase of Alienor, wife of 
Louis VII. ; a basin of rich Oriental work, used as a font at 
the baptism of Saint Louis (IX.) ; also his breviary, which 
was the property of his mother, Blanche of Castillo, the clasp 
of his mantle of State, his signet ring, his casket, and a win- 
dow and fragment of his prison at Mansourah, in Egypt. 
Here are, also, a portrait of King John II., who was so long 
the prisoner of the Black Prince; the "Hours of the Cross 
of Jesus," made at Tours, in 1492, by Eobert du Herlin ; 
several designs painted by Jeanne of France, and her will, 
bearing her signature, which she nvide at Bourges in 1504. 

The remainder of the collection is divided into two classes, 

the relics of the Orleans Valois branch, and the relics of the 
24 



y70 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Bourbon brancli. In the first class is a " Book of Hours," 
which belonged to Anne of Britanny, Queen of France ; also 
the sword and armor of Francis I. ; the Prayer book of Mar- 
guerite of Orleans Valois, the sister of Francis I. ; the " Book 
of Hours," and the armor, shield, sword, battle axe and 
gauntlets of Henry II.; the " Book of Hours" of the infamous 
Catharine de Medicis ; the armor of Francis II. ; the Prayer 
book of Mary Staart, the beautiful "Queen of Scots" and 
wife of Francis II. ; the armor, shield and helmet of Charles 
IX. ; the laws of the Order of the Holy Ghost, written on 
nine leaves of vellum; and several manuscripts and altar 
ornaments belonging to that Order. 

In the collection of the second branch (the Bourbons) are 
the "Book of Hours" (containing ninety leaves and sixty 
miniatures) of Henry IV., and his sword and backgammon 
board ; a rock-crystal mirror which once belonged to his wife, 
Marie de Medicis ; the armor of Louis XIII. ; the jewel case 
which Eichelieu gave to Anne of Austria; the "Book of 
Hours" of Louis XIV. and his armor, together with a num- 
ber of objects which belonged to him; tlie " Holy Week 
Book" of Maria Theresa of Austria; and the Prayer book 
of Maria Leczinska, wife of Louis XV. Here is the crown 
which was placed upon the brows of Louis XVI., only to be 
torn off again ; here is the sword which he could not wield 
in defence of that crown, and a few of the locksmith's tools 
which better suited his feeble hand. Here is the fan with 
which the beautiful Marie Antoinette charmed away so many 
hearts ; and close by is the pretty coffer which the then loyal 
City of Paris gave her, on the birth of the Dauphin. "Be- 
ware of the gifts of the Greeks !" It was this same City of 
Paris that sent the Queen to the scaffold, and tortured the 
poor little Dauphin to death in his cruel prison. Here are a 
writing table which belonged to Louis XVIIL, while he was 




Hall of 1lio F,Ptatcs, 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 371 

an exile at Hartwell ; the Coronation robes of Charles X. ; 
and the great seal and desk of Louis Philippe. The desk 
bears marks of the rough usage it received at the hands of 
the mob that- drove the king out of the Tuileries in 1848. 

You come now to the last, and to me the most interesting, 
hall of the Museum. It is in tlie centre of the wing, and is 
called- the Emperor''s Hall. It was fitted up in 1852 from 
designs by M. Duban, and is filled with several hundred arti- 
cles which belonged to the Great Napoleon and his immedi- 
ate family. You may spend hours in this room, examining 
the precious relics it contains. I cannot hope to mention 
more than a few, and shall confine myself to those which 
seem to me the most interesting. 

In the centre of the hall stands a silver statue of Napoleon 
at the age of fifteen. He is represented as a pupil of the 
military school of Brienne. It was executed at Paris by 
Louis Bochet, in 1857. The relics are arranged around the 
room in cases, with the exception of those too large to be 
placed under cover, which are railed off from the crowd. 
Here are swords of ceremony and swords of service, worn by 
Napoleon as First Consul and as Emperor. Here is the 
sword of honor which was presented to him on his return 
from Egypt, and near it are fire-arms and poniards of various 
kinds Avhich were once his. Here are spoils gathered from 
the hard won field of the Pyramids ; here, the flag whose 
eagle received the last adieu at Fontainebleau, and the tri- 
colored cockade which the Emperor wore at that sad parting 
with the Guard. Here are his mathematical instruments, his 
snuflf boxes, the uniform he wore on the day of Marengo, and 
several of the famous three-cornered hats the sight of which 
set so many soldier-hearts a throbbing. Here is the old grey 
riding-coat which forms so prominent a part of every veter- 
an's recollection of the Emperor. It is covered with the dust 



372 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

of a hundred fields, and is far more precious in the ejes of 
the world than the gaudy robes which hang near it, and which 
he used at his coronation. Close by is a book used at the 
same ceremony, and nearer still the crown of Charlemagne, 
so worthily worn by his greater successor. Here is the dress- 
ing case used by the Emperor in the field, and here the little 
curtained camp bedstead, his constant companion in victory 
and adversity. It went with him all over Europe, and shared 
his lonely exile at Saint Helena, and it was upon this little 
couch that his mighty spirit passed away. On the faded pil- 
low lies a small white handkerchief embroidered with the 
Imperial cipher. It is holy in the eyes of the people who 
come here to see it, for it received the Emperor's last sigh. 
How plain and simple the little bed and its hangings are ; yet 
they were the favorite resting place of him who had such 
unparalleled luxury at his command. Many a time did he 
sink into slumber under these faded hangings with the wild 
throbbing of his victorious guns for his lullaby, and many a 
time did he lie here and listen to the sighing of the night 
wind amongst the crags of his rocky prison. In the recess 
of one of the windows you will see the throne he won for 
himself, and not far from it, across the room, the cradle which 
the City of Paris presented to the little King of Eome. 

Like the rest of the visitors, you linger long in this room, 
so full of interest to an American, but at length passing on, 
you enter the Galerie de la Colonnade^ which comprises the 
remainder of the east wing. These halls contain the paintings 
of the Musde Napoleon III., purchased from the Marquis 
Campana by the French Government, 

Passing through the hall of the northeast stairway you 
enter the north wing of the palace. The first six rooms con- 
tain the collections of the Sauvageo Museum^ which is named 
in honor of the gentleman by whom it was formed and pre- 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 373 

sented to the country. It consists of a rare collection of 
relics of the Middle Ages, furniture, carved wood, ornaments, 
miniatures, etc. One room is entirely devoted to Yenitian 
glass and enamels ; another to iron work and bronze sculp- 
tures, and contains a good portrait of Henry II, Another 
room is called the Hall of French Pottery, and contains, 
amongst other specimens, some of the finest works of 
" Palissy the Potter," (Bernard Palissy.) There is also a 
hall of Italian Pottery in this wing, and a room devoted to 
the bass-reliefs of Luca della Eobbia and his school. 

The next rooms, going west, are devoted to the Museum 
of engravings or Calcograpliy. This collection is very rich, 
and according to the catalogue published in 1860, contained 
four thousand six hundred and nine specimens. It is per- 
haps, the best, if not the most complete collection of engrav- 
ings in existence, and forms a noble school for the studies 
of those who desire to excel in it. 

In the centre of this wing is the Hall of Pastels. These 
specimens are done in colored chalk, and "are intermedi- 
ary between drawing and painting, partaking of one by the 
process, stroke and hatching, partaking of the other by effects 
of color and fusion of shades." 

The remaining rooms of the north wing, and the northern 
part of the west wing, are occupied with the Museum of Designs, 
containing the drawings of the Old Masters. " Thanks to 
the great development of the halls of the Louvre, the direc- 
tors have been able to allow artists and amateurs to enjoy 
the sight of the best original designs, without the slightest 
danger to these fragile relics of art, by exposing them under 
glass cases." According to an inventory made in 1866, there 
were in the Louvre, eighteen thousand two hundred and 
three designs of the different Italian schools, eighty-seven of 
the Spanish school, eight hundred and two of the German 



374 PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

school, three thousand one hundred and fiftj-two of the 
Flemish school, one thousand and seventj-one of the Dutch 
school, eleven thousand seven hundred and thirty-eight of 
the French school, eleven of the English school, one hundred 
and ninety-eight of undetermined origin, eighty-two Indian 
designs, nine Chinese, one hundred and ninety-one enamels 
and paintings on porcelain — in all thirty-five thousand five 
hundred and forty-four designs. 

The central hall of the west wing was formerly the Chapel 
of the Palace, but is now the Museum of Antigtie Bronzes. 
"The gates which close this splendid hall are fine specimens 
of iron work, and were discovered in a neglected state in the 
Chateau of Maisons Lafitte, in the time of Louis Philippe ; 
the bronzes are interesting, especially a statue called Apollo, 
and said to have been found at Lillebonne in Normandy, 
but purchased in England, and which preserves a thicker 
coating of gilding than any ancient bronze statue known. 
There are several busts of Roman emperors, antique candela- 
bra, statuettes, arms, domestic utensils, divinities, and a very 
interesting small male statue, discovered at Leghorn. * * - In 
a circular case in the centre of the room, are some Poman 
silver utensils, and beneath, jewellery, three curious metal 
tablets from Nineveh with Assyrian inscriptions, and a gold 
helmet and ornaments discovered at Amfremont in Nor- 
mandy. In two large presses, have been, for the present, 
deposited here the finest bronzes of the Campana collections, 
belonging to the Musee de Napoleon III. ; the Etruscan 
armor, weapons, etc., are unique of their kind. In this hall 
is a good Roman Sedilia in bronze." 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 375 

YI. 

THE MAEINB MUSEUM 

Feom tlie vestibule at tlie head of the northeastern stairway 
of the palace, a small flight of stairs leads to the Marine and 
Ethnographical Museums, which are located on the second 
floor, and which occupy the north wing and the northern 
part of the west wing. The Marine Museum occupies eleven 
rooms in the north wing, and is not always open to visitors. 
It contains plans in relief of the fortified seaports of France, 
models of famous ships of the French navy, models of im- 
proved rigging, war steamers, masts, masting shears, and other 
machinery used fov fitting out vessels of war, anchors, cap- 
stans, cannon, and specimens of the small and side arms used 
in the French navy. Many of these models are very beautiful. 
Here is also a fine models of the apparatus used in removing 
the Obelisk of Luxor, now in the Place de la Concorde, from 
Egypt to France, In one of the rooms are the relics of the 
famous navigator La Perouse, discovered on the island of 
Manicolo by the English Captain Dillon. JSTumerous busts 
of the famous naval commanders of the countr\^ adorn the 
h;dl, also a large Eussian flag, taken at Sebastopol, In the 
tenth hall is a complete series of the mathematical and as- 
tronomical instruments used in navigation ; sextants, circles, 
compasses, etc, all of the latest and most improved patterns. 
In the last hall is a large plan in relief of the Port of Eoche- 
fort, and models of the warships of the last centuries, of 
galle3^s and other vessels used in war in former times. 

Passing out of the Naval Museum, you enter the. Mhno- 
graphical Museum^ a fine collection of deities, manufactures, 
articles of domestic use, ornaments, armour, etc., of India, 
China, and other eastern nations. Africa, South America, 



376 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

and Mexico are also represented in this collection. The 
Chinese articles are chiefly the spoils captured by the 
French army in the recent wars between France and that 
country, and many of them were taken at the sacking of the 
Imperial Palace near Pekin. 

Connected with this collection is the so-called American 
Museum, consisting of American antiquities, discovered chiefly 
in the sepulchres of Peru, Bolivia, and Mexico. "In this 
Museum are to be seen figures of men and women in lava, 
granite and gray stone ; also numerous but very imperfect 
sketches intended to represent kings, divinities, men and 
animals; also terra-cotta vases, equally rude and rough in 
outline ornaments; utensils brought from the Aztic temples 
of the gods at Mexico, and the Palace of the Incas at Peru, 
especially an idol of natural size, placed on a richly orna- 
mented altar, the approach being protected by a menacing 
monster," 



It is four o'clock, and the hour for closing has arrived. 
The guardians of the Museum who have lounged about the 
halls with such a listless worn out air all day, now seem 
filled with new life and energy. How they start up from 
their seats, as the silvery bell of the old clock tower peals 
out the hour. How pompously they wave you down 
towards the door, and with what solemn firmness they 
deny you another glance at that exquisite painting whose 
beauties have held you captive for so long. No! it is useless 
to expostulate. The hour for closing the Museums has struck, 
and none but the officials and the artists at work in the 
galleries can remain in the building. You pass down the 
grand stairway trodden so often by the feet of royalty, 
and find yourself once more in the Place Na'poUon III. 



c 




XXIII. 

THE LUXEMBOURG. 

I. 

THE PALACE. 

The Palace and gardens of the Luxembourg are situated 
on the south side of the Seine, at the lower end of the Boule- 
vard Saint Michel. This street forms the eastern boundary 
of the gardens, but the palace fronts upon the Eue de Vau- 
girard. The view given in connection with this chapter, 
shows the garden front. 

As early as the end of the Fifteenth Century, a palace was 
begun on this site by Eobert de Sancy. It was not com- 
pleted until 1583, however, when it was enlarged and finished 
by the Duke Epinay de Luxembourg. When Marie de 
Medicis, by the death of Henry TV. (in which the shrewd 
old Eichelieu afterwards thought she played no unimportant 
part), became Regent of France, she purchased the palace, 
and made considerable additions to its grounds. Being dis- 
satisfied with the then existing building, she caused it to be 
demolished, and in 1615, began the erection of a more mag- 
nificent edifice, after designs by Jacques Desbrosses. After 
its completion, Marie, then less queen than prisoner, remained 
in it but a few years, and left it finally, in 1631. During her 
residence in it, it was called the Medicis Palace, but at her 
death it passed to her second son, Gastou, Duke of Orleans, 

377 



378 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

and was known as Palais Orleans. Gaston left it to his 
daughter, the famous Mademoiselle Montpensier, the heroine 
of the Fronde. In 1672, it became the property of Elizabeth, 
of Orleans, Duchess of Guise, who gave it to Louis XIY, 
At the death of the king, however, it reverted to the Orleans 
family. The Eegent gave it to his daughter, the infamous 
Duchess of Berry, and it became the scene of those frightful 
debaucheries which have made the name of the beautiful but 
depraved young woman notorious. In an age when corrup- 
tion was the rule, and virtue the exception, the orgies of the 
Luxembourg were such as to disgust the most abandoned. 
The Duchess died here in 1719, the victim of her passions 
and imprudence, " having never ceased," says Saint Simon, 
" to combine with the tastes of a Messalina, the ambitious 
cares of a woman who felt herself called to govern men, with- 
out doubt, because she despised them as much as they 
despised her." In 1778, Louis XVI. gave the palace to his 
brother, the Count of Provence, afterwards Louis XYIII. 

The Revolution converted the palace into a prison, and 
consigned many illustrious victims to it. It held, amongst 
others, the beautiful Josephine Beauharnais and her husband, 
Hebert, Danton, Camille Desmoulins, Philippcaux and La- 
croix. Robespierre was brought here immediately after his 
first arrest, but the Concierge refused to receive hiai, and as 
they were conveying him to another prison, he escaped, and 
is said to have brought on the insui-rection which proved 
fatal to him. David, the great painter, was confined here 
after the 9th Thermidor, and during his captivity, occupied 
himself with the first sketch of his famous painting of ',' The 
Sabines." 

In the same year, the prison was suddenly changed into a 
palace again, and the Directoiy established itself here. The 
new government was so poor when it first took possession of 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 379 

the palace, that it could not provide the simple articles needed 
at its first sittings ; but it was not long before the old halls 
witnessed a series of debaucheries and revellings, given by 
Barras, which would have done credit to the Duchess de 
Berry herself. 

On the 10th of December, 1797, General Bonaparte was 
received here by the Directory, upon his return from his first 
campaign in Italy. He brought with him the Treaty of 
Campo Formio, concluded by him between the Eepublic and 
the Emperor of Austria. The palace bore its share in the 
events of the 18th Brumaire (9th November, 1799), after 
which it became, for a little while, the Palais du Consulat. 
In February, 1800, however, the First Consul removed to the 
Tuilei'ies, and the Luxembourg remained deserted until the 
establishment of the Empire, when it became the Palace of 
the Senate. At the Restoration it was assigned to the Cham- 
ber of Peers. It was here that the gallant Marshal Ney was 
brought to a mock trial, and sentenced to death. During his 
trial, the Marshal was confined in the ofhce of the Librarian, 
at the western extremity of the great gallery of archives. 
He was shot at the southern end of the gardens, on the spot 
where his statue now stands. Under Louis Philippe, the 
Chamber of Peers continued to sit here, and before it were 
tried the Ministers of Charles X., and Prince Louis Napo- 
leon, after his "Boulogne Expedition," in 1810. During 
the Republic of 1818, several of the revolutionar}'- bodies sat 
here ; but in 1852, after the establishment of the Empire, 
the Luxembourg became once more the Palace of the 
Senate. 

"The Palace of tlie Luxembourg," says Jules Janin, "is 
of Florentine origin. Those who have never seen the Pitti 
Palace at Florence, tell you that the Pitti Palace was the 
model of the Luxembourg Palace, which in fact resembles 



880 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

it, as mucli as a stone fountain resembles the Cataract of 
Niagara." 

The plan of the building is that of a square. The princi- 
pal entrance faces the Rue de Vaugirard. This fronlf is a fine 
fagade forming a terrace, in the middle of which is a pavilion 
highly ornamented, and containing some sculpture. Back 
of this lies the principal court of the palace, which is three 
hundred and sixty feet long by two hundred and ten feet deep. 
At each end of the terrace stands a pavilion, each of which 
is connected with the main buildiog by a handsome wing. 
The fa9ade towards the garden is elaborately ornamented. 
The Pavilion de VHorloge^ which stands in the centre, is richly 
embellished by allegorical figures. This part of the palace 
was much improved by Louis Philippe, but the entire build- 
ing is one of the most beautiful and elaborate in the city. 



II. 

THE STATE APAETMENTS. 

The entrance to the State apartments is from the Eue 
Vaugirard and the Great Court. You enter a door on your 
right, and pass up the grand stairway, in the centre of the 
left wing, with statues and trophies of the First Empire on 
either hand, and enter the magnificent Salle des G'ardes, which 
is decorated simply with classical statues. Then passing 
through two ^ther handsome rooms, notable only for their 
beauty, you find yourself in the Throne Room. This gor- 
geous hall is one hundred and eighty feet long, and wide in 
proportion, and is fitted up with gildings, carvings and 
paintings of the most gorgeous description. At the entrance 
the paintings represent scenes in the career of Napoleon I., 
whilst those at tlie opposite end illustrate the progress of 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



381 



France from the earliest times. The throne, at the far end 
of the hall, is most magnificent, handsomer, even than that 
at the Tuileries. The room is designed for State ceremonies, 
which are to be honored with the presence of the Sovereign 




Hall of the Senate. 



but it is at present used almost exclusively for the ofi&cial 
receptions and entertainments of the President of the 
Senate. 

On the right, a door leads into the Salle du Senat^ in which 
the sessions of the Senate are held. It is a handsome, richly 
ornamented hall semi-circular in shape. The President sits 
in the middle, and the Senators occupy rows of rising seats 
arranged in a half circle in front of him. The Senators 
speak from their places, as in our own Legislative assemblies, 
In the Corps Ldgislatif the forms are different, as we shall 
see. This hall was destroyed by a fire kindled by an 
incendiary, in 1859, but has been entirely rebuilt since 
then. 



382 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

At the end of the Throne Room^ is a fine chamber, known 
as the Private Saloon of the Emperor^ and designed for the 
accommodation of his Majesty during his visits to the palace. 
It opens upon an ancient Sdlle des Gardes, which retains its 
original wood work, dating from the davs of Marie de 
Medicis. It also contains a fine painting of " Christ upon 
the Cross," bj Philippe de Champaigne. 

Close bj is the Library, with over fifteen thousand volumes, 
the most of them of great value. It is not shown except by 
special permission, but is worth visiting. It contains some 
fine modern paintings. 

You are now shown the private apartments of Marie de 
Medicis. They are preserved almost as she left them, the 
paintings, panels, ornaments, and furniture having been taken 
down and concealed during the Eevolution. They are ex- 
quisitely adorned, and compare favorably with anything of 
their kind in existence. The paintings on the panels are 
attributed to Poussin and Philippe de Champaigne. Those 
on the ceiling are of the school of Rubens. These apartments 
lie to the south of the Grand Stairway. 

You are next shown the Chapel, which is situated on the 
ground floor, and is of more modern construction. It was 
finished in 1844, and is ornamented with handsome paint- 
ings. That over the altar — The Adoration of the Shepherds — 
is said to be the work of an American artist, Samuel White 
The Senators and their children are married here. Adjoin- 
ing the Chapel is the Salle du livre d^Or, a series of rooms 
arranged under Louis Philippe, and intended to contain the 
-genealogical records of the Peers of France. 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 383 

III. 

THE PICTUEE GALLEEIES. 

Eeteacing your steps tlirougli the Court and the Eue 
Yaugircarcl, 3^ou find the entrance to the Picture Galleries at 
the northeastern corner of the palace. You pass from the 
street into the gardens in order to reach it. Ascending a 
narrow stairway, so worn with the many feet that have 
traversed it, that it requires no little agility to keep your 
footing, you enter the Gallenj of Living French Artists, or as 
it is most commonly called, the Musee de Luxembourg. This 
gallery contains the master-pieces of living French painters. 
Their pictures are placed here during their lives, but ten 
years after the death of the artist any of the paintings em- 
braced in this collection may be transferred to, the Louvre. 

The picture gallery of the palace was begun by Catharine 
de Medicis, and consisted originally of twenty-four of Eubens' 
paintings. Additions were made to this collection at various 
times, bat the entire "gallery" was subsequently transferred 
to the Louvre. Tlie present Museum dates from 1818. The 
works have been purchased principally after the annual ex- 
hibitions, under the advice of a jury composed almost en- 
tirely of members of the Institute. These gentlemen until 
very recently crowded the gallery with heavy, classical sub- 
jects, and greatly marred its attractiveness to all but them- 
selves. Of late years, however, a change has been made, 
and the collection is now a very fair representation of the 
French school of to-day. 

Owing to the constant changes, caused by the removal of 
paintings to the Louvre and the addition of others, it is im- 
possible for any account of the collection to be accurate for 
any considerable length of time. At the door of the Great 



384 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Gallery^ by which you enter, a catalogue of the contents of 
the Museum may always be purchased ; and it will be found 
of infinite service. 

In a little room to your right as you enter the gallery, are 
placed some of the finest pictures of the collection. The Great 
Oallery is nearly five hundred feet long, and opens at its 
southern end into another room larger than the one first 
named, which contains some of Eosa Bonheur's best works. 

In the little room to the north of the gallery are the 
" Massacre of Saint Bartholomew," showing the murder of 
the good Coligny, in the foreground, the "Death of Marat," 
and a " Massacre of the Jews at Yienna," all by Eobert 
Fleury : the " Arrest of Charlotte Corday," by Henri Scheffer, 
and the "Souliote Women," " Le Larmoyeur," and "Christ 
Tempted on the Mountain," by Ary Schefier. The " Charlotte 
Corday " is a wonderful work, and commands universal 
admiration. 

The collection in the Oreat Oallery is very rich. To my 
mind the best of all the paintings is that wonderful work of 
Charles Louis Miiller — " The Last Victims of the Terror^ It 
is a grand picture, and so life-like that you almost think you 
are gazing at the scene itself. Before you is a vast, gloomy 
hall in the great prison of the Eeign of Terror. The light 
which streams in through the bars of the half- open door 
at the back, illumines the room only enough to enable you 
to discern the victims huddled together under the heavy 
rafters. Worn down and haggard with imprisonment and 
with hunger, they are scattered in groups about the hall, 
awaiting their summons to the Guillotine. Before the half- 
open door a tumbril has halted, and one of the doomed 
women is about to enter it. Near the door stands an officer 
of the Eepublic, with the fatal list in his hands. The light 
falls strongly over the paper, and throws it out with terrible 



S3 

n> 

B 




25 



385 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 387 

distinctness. The officer has just called the name of one of 
the noble victims, and stands awaiting a ^epl3^ A hideous 
Sans-Culloite has climbed up one of the pillars, and is point- 
ing out the victim — a woman, too beautiful and brave for 
such a fate — who is rising half-proudly, and half-shrinkiuglv, 
to acknowledge her name. It is a proud name, for she is 
the Princesse de Monaco. A woman, a famous actress in 
her day, already summoned, is clinging franticly to the dress 
of the man who holds the list, while a brawny fellow is in 
the act of seizing her in his arms to carry her to the tumbril. 
Wives cling close to their husbands, and mothers clasp their 
children eagerly in their arms. Terror, despair, and defiance 
are wonderfully depicted in the faces before you. Monsieur, 
the Marquis de Koquelaure, sits in tlie foreground on the 
left, listening with a feverish eagerness to the fatal list, and 
seemingl}^ reckoning the chances for his escape. In the 
foreground, in the centre of the picture, is Andre Chenier, 
the poet, whose rash verses cost him his head. He has 
abandoned himself to despair, and is employed in writing 
down his last thoughts. These faces are all portraits, but 
with what marvellous skill they are handled. Nothing could 
be more eloquent, nothing more thoroughly expressive than 
this painting. It does not need the title affixed to it, for it 
tells its own story. Critics tell you that the coloring is faulty, 
that the place looks more like a ball room than a prison, and 
advi.se you to give the picture but a passing glance. Pass it, 
if you can ; but depend upon it, it will hold you spell bound 
by its wonderful beauty and startling truthfulness. 

Just across the hall hangs one of the largest and best of the 
collection, which affords a fitting contrast to the terrible 
story of heroic suffering you have just been gazing upon. 
It is "A Eoman Orgy in the Empire's Decadence," by 
Thomas Couture. It represents a scene such as these old 



388 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

halls might have witnessed in the days of the Regency. A 
group of Roman youths are engaged in a wild revel with 
courtesans. At one side, apart from the feast, two stern- 
browed, noble men are frowning darkly upon this scene of 
voluptuous degradation. It is hinted that the artist designed 
his picture as an eloquent protest against the moral condition 
of the Paris of to-day. 

Horace Vernet has some fine works in this collection. 
Here are his "Meeting of Raphael and Michael Angelo in 
the Vatican;" the "Defence of Paris in 1814:," a splendid 
battle picture; and his "Judith and Holofernes." Eugene 
Delacroix's fine " Massacre of the Greeks at Scio, in 1824," 
is one of the prominent features of the collection. Meisson- 
nier's picture of "the Emperor at Solferino," is also here, 
and merits a place in the great galleries of Yersailles. Deveria's 
"Birth of Henry IV.," is \vorthy of a similar disposition. 
Here are Benonville's "Death of Saint Francis;" Isabey's 
" Departure of the Admiral DeRuyter and the great pensioner 
De Witt ;" Mozin's " Shipwreck of an English Indiaman near 
Boulogne ;" Rosa Bonheur's " Ploughing with Oxen at 
Nevers," and her " Hay Cart in Auvergne ;" with several 
hundred others all worthy of notice. Rosa Bonheur's pic- 
tures are in the room at the southern end of the gallery. 

At the north end of the gallery, a side door leads to a 
series of rooms in the western wing of the palace. In order 
to reach them you go through a long passage, the walls of 
which are occupied with some very ordinary drawings. A 
number of indifferent sculptures fill up the hall. The rooms 
in the west wing are five in number, and contain a miscellane- 
ous collection of paintings. Amongst these are Rosa Bon- 
heur's "Haymakers;" Delacroix's "Morocco Wedding;'' 
" The Venitians delivered by Victor Pisani," by Hesse ; 
"Lesueur, the painter, at the Monastery of the Chartreuse," 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 389 

by Langee ; " Eomulus and Eemus," by Champmartin; and a 
couple of " Views on the Coast of Normandy," by Isabey. 

Adjoining the palace, on the west side, is the Hotel clu Petit 
Luxembourg, or the Little Luxembourg. It was built by 
Richelieu, about the year 1629. It is now the official resi- 
dence of the President of the Senate. Behind it is a large 
orangery. 

IV. 

THE GARDENS. 

The Luxembourg Gardens cover an area of eighty-five 
acres, and are the prettiest in Paris — prettier even than those 
of the Tuileries. The original piece of land, bought by 
Marie de Mddicis was very small. It comprised the gardens 
of the Monastery of Chartreux, which stood on the right side 
of the present gardens, "The manner in which this territory 
came into the hands of the monks of Chartreux," says a 
writer on Paris, " is singular and ridiculous. The Chateau 
of Vauvert, built by Robert IL, the son of Hugh Capet, 
having been abandoned, a report was promulgated that 
innumerable demons had made it their abode. The most 
frightful forms were seen, and the most terrific noises were 
heard every night. Not one dared approach the fatal walls 
after sunset ; and the inhabitants of the neighboring houses 
fled in terror from their dwellings. Saint Louis, in conse- 
quence, made over the edifice and its domains to the monks 
of the Chartreusian Monastery of Gentilly, they having 
pledged themselves to exorcise the fiends, and to deliver the 
neighborhood from the disturbers of its repose. The pledge 
they soon fulfilled, and tranquillity was restored." 

The gardens of to-day are very beautiful, and are amongst 
the most popular in the city. They are ornamented with 



390 PARIS BY SUXLIGIIT AND GASLIGHT. 

several fiue fountains and a number of statues of the famous 
women of French history. In front of the southern fagade 
of the pahice is a delightful flower garden, filled with a 
tasteful selection of plants and flowers, and ornamented with 
fountains and statuary. A grove of trees extends around the 
flower garden, and is separated from it by a stone balustrade 
reached by a flight of steps. Through the terrace thus 
formed a broad avenue extends from the palace to the 
Observatory. The trees and shrubberj^ are fine and are 
arranged with great taste. 

Along the side of the Boulevard Saint Michel are a fine 
orangery, two large hot houses, and a gardener's lodge. The 
old o]'angery is on the opposite side of the grounds, and 
between it and the west wing of the' palace is the private 
garden of the President of the Senate. To tlie left of the 
alley leading to the Hue de Fleiirus, is the ground of the 
racket players. A theatre stands on the " grand terrace," 
which lies opposite the racket ground, and close by is a Cafe. 

A military band plays in the central part of the gardens 
twice a week during the summer months. 

The gardens are a favorite resort with the dwellers in the 
Latin Quarter. Here the students come to con their lessons, 
to enjoy the fresh air, to lounge, or to steal the flowers with 
which thev will deck the hair of their mistresses at the Gloserie 
across the way. Here come the "small gentlemen," and 
pensioned functionaries to enjoy their walks, and gossip, and 
hear the news. Here come the nurses and the children for 
sport and health, and to watch the performances at the little 
j\[arionette theatres which are scattered about the grounds. 
These little establishments are unique in themselves. Not 
much larger than a good-sized doll's house, they are gaily 
painted and ornamented, and are fitted up as theatres, with 
stage, scenery, entrances, and exits. A rope is stretched 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 391 

around tbe pretty box for some distance, and inside of this 
barrier a number of seats are arranged. A small boy stand- 
ing at one side beats a drum with one hand and fingers a fife 
with the other. He constitutes the orchestra, and is some- 

imes assisted by a boy Avith a violin. A second lad stands 
outside, soils tickets to the chairs within the rope, beats off 
the small boj^s who venture too near, and acts as director 
and manager in general. The price of admission within the 
rope is one sou, and the audience consists of little masters 
and misses with tlieir nurses, and sometimes the nurse's 
lover. These constitute the aristocracy of the audience. The 
" lower classes " of this juvenile world hang around the out- 
side of the rope, as near as the boy in charge, and the Sergent 
de Yille at his back, will permit. When tlie chairs are full 
the " orchestra " strikes up a lively air, and the performance 
begins. The actors are nothing more than puppets, but the 
play is full as interesting as any that you see at the " grown 
up theatres " on the Boulevards. If you don't believe me, 
ask any of the little ladies who sit so demurel}'' on the wicker 
chairs within the rope. , Could anything be more charming 
than the manner in which those pretty puppets make love? 
or more natural than the coquetry of the wooden mademoi- 
selle who squeaks her sentiment so shrilly ? And as for you, 
my little men, what do you think of the wooden mademoi- 
selle's conduct ? Isn't it outrageous, the way she tramples 
on the wooden hearts of her wooden suitors? Doesn't it 
make you clench your little teeth in anger at her utter want 

f principle? and don't you thiidc such devotion as that tiny 
fellow manifests is worthy of a better reward ? Ah ! ye 
who are men and women, indeed, now, who roll by tlie pretty 
garden in your fine cari'iages, and loll in your ricli boxes at 
the opera; have you found any more enjoyment in your 
" grown up " pleasures, than you knew when your greatest 



392 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

grief could be sent flying away by the squeakings and jerk- 
mgs of these little marionettes ? Do you ever think, as you 
move through the hollow world that surrounds you, that 
after all, that thing you call society, is but a grown up 
marionette show, in which you are but puppets in the hands 
of fortune ? 

" The garden of the Luxembourg," says Jules Janin, " is 
inhabited by a distinct world. It is no longer the luxury, 
the elegance, the brilliancy of the Tuileries. * * It is the 
garden of the citizen, the student, the father of a family, the 
artist who comes here to dream of his painting, and the poet 
to compose his verses. In this garden of the Luxembourg, 
all are acquainted, and all love their companions, even with- 
out ever having spoken ; people look at each other with 
kindness, so sure are they of having felt in these walks, the 
same joys and the same sorrows. How many young girls 
have come here to dream of the husbands proposed to them 
by their mothers I How many young men, who have pon- 
dered, under these trees, upon the difficulties of life ! There 
is one old man whom the Garden of the Luxembourg has 
seen every day for sixty years ; he has grown old like the 
elms which he saw planted, and be can tell you better than 
any one — young men — that after all, it is not worth while to 
be too uneasy about the future. * * * The garden is thus 
peopled with illustrious men, who are only to be met here ; 
they are at home in this spot ; tliey were brought here the 
morning after their birth, they will walk here till the eve of 
their death. So, also, into this garden, protected by the 
political palace, hardly any noise penetrates unless it is the 
echo of the College of France and of the Sorbonne. At the 
Luxembourg nothing is read but the oldest books bound in 
vellum, or better still, in old red morocco, Horace, Virgil, 
Homer, Demosthenes, Bossuet, Fenelon, Pascal. If then, by 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



393 



chance, some trifling book, just published, dares to show 
itself in these learned walks, there is a general outcry ; they 
recognize with indignation the vulgar livery of the library. 
Away with the romance ! away with the poem ! Every one 
escapes from its light-minded reader, and points at it with 
the finger. A novel from the reading-room in the Luxem- 
bourg ! Can you imagine it ?" 



Y. 



THE OBSBEYATOEY. 

Either the Boulevards Suint Michel or the grand avenue 
of the Luxembourg; Garden will bring; you to the large 




Observatory. 

edifice at their southern extremity, called the Imperial Ohsei-v- 
atory. The building which faces the palace was constructed 
by Claud Perrault, in 1670, and was provided with a full 
equipment of scientific instruments, but being from the first 



394 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

ill adapted to scientific purposes, it became necessary to erect 
other buildings. The old portion is now used principally 
for the dwelling and reception-rooms of the Senator-Director 
of the Institation, who is lodged here in magnificent style. 
It also contains the library and a number of old-fashioned 
astronomical instruments which are of not much use to-day. 
The low, heavy buildings on the eastern side constitute the 
working quarter of the Observatory. Here are the transit 
instruments, circles, meteorological instruments, etc. The 
dome is occupied by an immense equatorial. This part of 
the establishment is well provided with all the appliances 
necessary to the successful prosecution of the labors of the 
Imperial Astronomer and his assistants. On the floor of 
one of the second story rooms a meridian has been traced, 
and from the window you can see, on the distant heights of 
Montmartre, an obelisk which marks the exact prolongation 
of this line. This is the meridian from which all longitudes 
from Paris are reckoned. There are several wells beneath 
the building which were formerly used for experiments 
on gravity, temperature, etc. There is an ingenious in- 
strument attached to one of the rooms, which measures the 
exact quantity of rain which falls at Paris during the year. 

The Observatory was formerly in charge of Arago, and 
saw its best days, perhaps, under him. His lectures drew 
crowded audiences, but the hall in which they were delivered 
has been demolished to make room for the extension of 
the dwelling of the Imperial Astronomer. It is said that 
the Observatory does not maintain, the high rank held by 
Paris in every other branch of science, and tliat it is inferior 
in practical results to several of its Eui'opeau associates. 

Admission to the Observatory is granted only to scien- 
tific visitors, with a special introduction, and even this 
is hard to pi'ocurc. It contains nothing to interest the 
general visitor, and much that ho niiylit ignorantl}'" injure. 




o 



IX IV. 
THE PALACES. 

Having visited the palaces of the Taileries, the Louvre, 
and the Luxembourg, we must now glance hastily at the re- 
maining buildings occupied by the Imperial Government and 
termed palaces, and in this description shall include the 
Ministries, or " Department Buildings," as they are termed 
in our country. 

The Palace of the Corps Legislaiif lies on the south bank of y/ 
the Seine, just opposite the Place de la Concorde^ with which 
it is connected by the Pont de la Concorde. It was begun in 
1622 by the Duchess de Bourbon, and finished by the Prince 
de Conde in 1789. It was then called Palais Bourhon, and 
was confiscated by the Republic, in 1792. The palace had 
cost its builders the sum of twenty million of francs, and the 
Republic finding it had secured a valuable prize held on to 
it, and assigned it to the Council of Five Jffundred, as a place 
of meeting. For the accommodation of this council a grand 
hall was built on the site of the old reception room. Napo- 
leon built the handsome portico which adorns the front to- 
day, and made the edifice the Palace of the Corps Legislatif 
of the First Empire. At the Restoration it was restored to 
the Prince de Condu, but the Chamber of Deputies held its 
sessions there, and in 1827 the Government purchased from 
the Prince the portion of the palace used by the Deputies,* 

* The price paid was 5..o00,000 Irancs. In 1830 tlie Due d'Aumale 
the heir of Cond6 sold the rest to the Slate for 5,047,47.") francs. 

397 



398 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

who continued to sit here until the Revolution of 1848, when 
they were succeeded bj the Constituent Assembly. It w'as 
to the hall now occupied by the Legislative Body that the 
Duchess of Orleans and her children fled for shelter during 
the outbreak of 1848, and it was in this same hall that the 
stormiest debates of the National Assembly took place. A 
the Coup d'Eiat the palace was occupied and held by the 
troops of the present Emperor. 

The palace is constructed of granite, and faces the river. 
The front is adorned with a magnificent portico with twelve 
Corinthian columns. It is one hundred and one feet wide, 
is raised on a broad flight of steps, and is ornamented with 
statues and bass-reliefs. One of the doorways is under this 
portico, but the main entrance is at the south end, and opens 
upon the Rue de I'Universite. The gateway is placed in 
the centre of a Corinthian colonnade, terminated by two 
pavilions, and presents a handsome appearance. Within tlie 
gateways are two fine Courts, surrounded with porticoes. 
One of these porticoes serves as the entrance to the Hall of 
the Legislative Corps. 

The interior is handsomely arranged. It consists of im- 
mense halls, and passages, some of which are ornamented 
with statues, bass-reliefs and other sculptures, and some with 
paintings and gildings. The Salon de Paix is a handsome 
chamber, the walls and ceiling of which are ornamented 
with paintings by Horace Vernet. The Salle des Pas Perdiis 
contains one of Vernet's ceilings, and the Salle des Confer- 
ences is ornamented with a number of historical and allegor- 
ical paintings by Ileim. 

The principal room is the Salle du Corps LegislaU'f^ in 
which the sittings of that body are held. It was begun in 
1828, and finished in 1832. "It is cemi-circular, or in the 
form of a Gi'cck theatre, surrounded by Ionic columns, and 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 399 

Jighted from above. The President's chair is considerably 
elevateu, and in the centre of the cerni-circle, facing the 
members, who occupy crimson velvet seats rising as in an 
amphitheatre. The member who addresses the Assembly 
speaks from a Tribune or pulpit. Round the hall are seats 
for fi^e hundred spectators. The Imperial family, Corps 
Diplomatique, etc., have separate tribunes like boxes in a 
theatre. The whole is profusely adorned with paintings and 
statues, allegorical and historical, none of any great merit. 
As seen when empty the general effect is cold and tame." 

Attached to the palace is the Library^ containing nearly 
one hundred thousand volumes. 

The HuLel de la Presidence^ or official residence of the 
President of the Legislative Body was incorporated by the 
Prince de Conde with the Palais Bourbon. It is the ancient 
Soiel Larrey, and is now generally regarded as a part of the 
Leo'islative Palace. 

The Palace of the Legion of Honor stands on the south 
bank of the Seine, just to the right of the Coiys Ltgislatif. It 
was built in 1786 for the Prince de Salm, who was executed 
in 1792. The palace was then confiscated by the Republic, 
and disposed of by lottery; It was drawn by a man who 
called himself the Marc[uis de Boisregard. This fellow gave 
a series of magnificent entertainments here, but was at length 
discovered to be a swindler and an escaped convict. It again 
became the property of the State, and in 1803 Napoleon I., 
appointed it the residence of the Chancellor of the new Order 
of the Legion of Honor which he had created. At the Besto 
ration it was given back to the family of its original owner, 
but in 1830 was purchased by the State. In 1859 it was 
repaired and considerably improved. 

It is the prettiest of all the palaces in Paris, being Yerj 
rich in sculpture and ornament. The principal entrance is 



400 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



from the Rue de Lille, and presents the form of a triumphal 
arch, flanked right and left by a colonnade. At the bottom 
of the court-yard, surrounded by an Ionic colonnade, is the 
principal building, preceded by a Corinthian portico with 
frieze, ornamented with Arabesques and the motto of the 
order, Honor ei Patrie (" Honor and Country"). Our engrav- 
ing shows the fa9ade which faces the river, and which is 
decidedly the prettiest part of the building. The interior is 




Palace of the Lesion of Honor. 



handsomely fitted up, the large circular saloon in the centre 
being the principal room. 

The palace is now the residence of the Chancellor of the 
Leo-ion of Honor, and contains the offices and records of the 
Order, which was established by Napoleon I., in 1801. It 
was remodelled in 1452 by the present Emperor. Its object 
is to reward and distinguish merit both civil and military. 
At present it consists of a Chancellor, 80 grand crosses, 250 
grand officers, 1200 commanders, 5000 oOicers, and over 



PARIS BY SUXLIGRT AND GASLIGHT. 401 

50,000 chevaliers. If in the military or marine service, each 
member of the Order receives a fixed income, which is 
graduated according to rank. The higher officers, grand 
offiers, and grand crosses wear a star on the right or left 
breast ; the commanders suspend the cross from the neck by 
a wide red riband, officers wear a gold cross attached to 
a red rosette, and chevaliers a silver cross fastened to a red 
riband in the button hole. Persons wearing the cross are 
saluted by all the sentinels of the French army, but this 
honor is not paid to the riband alone. The income of the 
order is about seven million francs per annum. It supports 
handsomely two establishments for the education of daugh- 
ters of necessitous members, one at Saint Denis, and the other 
at Ecouen. 

The Palais UOrsay lies to the right of the Palace of the 
Legion of Honor, and is one of the most magnificent build- 
ings in the city. It was begun by Napoleon I., and was 
completed in its present style by Louis Philippe. It is 
occupied by the Cour des Gomptes^ or Audit office of the Em- 
pire, and by the Council of State. Besides innumerable 
offices it contains a suite of State Apartments finished in 
magnificent style. The principal front is towards the Eue de 
Lille, but the faQade towards the quay is very handsome. 
The building is Italian in style, and cost over a million and 
a quarter of francs. It is enormous in size, and thoiigh very 
imposing is rather heavy in appearance. 

The Palace of the Elysee N'ajxyUon^ though it has not been 

inhabited by the Emperor since the Couj) d'Etat, is usually 

regarded as one of the Imperial residences, and is not shown 

to visitors without a special permission, difficult to obtain. 

It is used at present for the residence of any illustrious 

strangers who may honor Paris with their presence. The 

Queen of England occupied it daring her visit to Paris, iu 
26 



402 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

1855. The grand entrance is from tlie Eue du Faubourg 
St. Honore, and the gardens extend back to the Avenue 
Gabriel just opposite the Champs Elysees. 

On the Faubourg Saint Honord side, the fa9ade consists of 
a handsome gallery, with a gateway in the form of a tri- 
umphal arch. The gallery is composed of one story and an 
attic over which there is a terrace crowned by a light stone 
balustrade. At each end of the gallery, which encloses the 
court-yard, are entrance gates supported by handsome Corin- 
thian pillars and ornamented with trophies of flags and arms. 
The palace is a light, tasteful building, situated at the bottom 
of the Court and opening on the gardens at the back. It is 
finished magnificently in its internal arrangements. The 
gardens are moderately large and are laid off in the English 
style, with winding alleys and beautiful lawns. 

The Elysee was built in 1718, by Molet, the architect, for 
the Count d'Evreux. It afterwards passed into the hands 
of Madame Pompadour, who enlarged and beautified it, and 
inhabited it until her death. She left it to her brother, the 
Marquis de Marigny, who sold it to Louis XV., by whom it 
was converted into a residence for Ambassadors Extraordi- 
nary from other countries. It was next purchased by M. 
Beaujon, the famous financier, who made it one of the most 
splendid hotels in Paris. He spent many millions upon it, 
paying especial attention to the gardens. The First Eepublic 
made it a place for holding State balls and receptions, but 
under the Consulate and Empire it was repaired and improved, 
and occupied by Napoleon and his family. Murat lived 
here for awh.ile, just previous to his departure for Naples. 
During the latter part of Napoleon's reign it was his favorite 
residence. He repaired to it after his return to Paris from 
Waterloo, and signed his abdication here. The room in 
which this act was performed, and the chamber in which he 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 403 

passed his last night in Paris are preserved with religious 
care. The Duke of Wellington, and the Emperor, Alex- 
ander I., of Eussia, occupied the palace during the time the 
city was held by the allied forces. At the Restoration, Louis 
Xyill. gave it to the Due de Berri, but after his assassina- 
tion, in 1820, his widow abandoned the palace, and in 1830 
it reverted to the State. It was occupied during the first 
portion of the Revolution of 1848 by one of the numerous 
"Commissions" of the Government, and on the 20th of 
December, in the same year. Prince Louis Bonaparte, the 
President of the Republic, took up his residence in it, and 
occupied it until he went to the Tuileries, in 1852. It was 
here that he arranged those masterly movements by which 
he secured the tlirone of France to himself, and saved the 
country from ruin. 

It was the custom of the President of the Republic to 
receive his friends at the Elysde every Monday evening. 
On the evening of Monday, December 1st, 1851, the recep- 
tion was unusually brilliant. Not the slightest suspicion of 
anything extraordinary was felt by the guests. The Assem- 
bly, confident in its fancied security, had spent the day in 
discussing the monotonous project of the Lyons railroad, 
and no one dreamed that the decisive moment was so close 
at hand. The President was calm and seemingly uncon 
cerned, and appeared to enjoy the entertainment as much as 
the most thoughtless person present. The only thing unu 
sual was the presence of a number of couriers and estafettes 
in the streets, but this was accounted for by the explanation 
that they were bringing in the returns of an election for 
Representative, which had been held that day in the Depart- 
ment of the Seine. M. de Morny attended the Opera 
Comique in the early part of the evening, in company with 
General Changarnier. A lady, with whom he was sitting in 



404 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

the boxes, said to him that the Assembly had monopolized 
all the men who had been the most distinguished ornaments 
of society. 

"But you will soon come back to us," she added, with a 
smile. "You are all going to be swept out." 

De Morny laughed gaily. 

" Madame," said he, " I don't know when the broom will 
come to sweep us out, but I do know that I shall try to be 
on the side of the handle." 

About ten o'clock, Louis Napoleon, who was leaning care- 
lessly against the mantel-piece, watching the dancers, saw 
approaching him. Colonel Vieyra, who had just been made 
brigade major of the ISTational Guard, of Paris, then under 
the command of General Lawastine. He called to him — 

" Colonel," said he, smiling pleasantly, " are you sufiiciently 
master of yourself to conceal a sudden emotion ?" 

" Certainly," replied the colonel. 

" Well, then," said the President, in a low voice, leaning 
toward him, " this is the night I Good ! you have not moved 
a muscle. Now, can you assure me that to-morrow there 
shall be no rappel beaten, whatever may happen, and that 
no convocation of the National Guard shall be held in the 
mayoralties?" 

" I will answer for it, if I receive the necessary orders," 
said the colonel. 

"For these see the Minister of War," said the President. 
" See him from me. Don't go yet, we are observed." 

In a few minutes the two separated, carelessly to all ap- 
pearance. 

The guests departed before midnight, and the President 
retired to his cabinet, where he was shortly joined by Gen- 
eral Saint Arnaud, M. de Morny, M. de Persigny, M. de 
Maupas, and M. de Beville, of the Etat Major. It was a 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 405 

moment of great solemnity, for all felt the immense import- 
ance of the step they were about to take. Their success 
would cause a new and more glorious era to dawn upon 
France ; their failure meant ruin to her and to themselves. 
The President gravely informed them of the momentous 
consequences that hung upon their movements, and added a 
few words of encouragement and hope. Then opening a 
secret drawer in a bureau he gave to each of his companions 
a sealed letter of instructions, and grasping their hands said, 
in a tranquil but earnest tone, "Now, gentlemen, take a little 
repose, and may God protect France." With these words 
ended the famous interview. 

The next morning France was secure in the only hands 
competent to save her. 

The Archbishop's Palace^ the seat of the ecclesiastical 
power of Paris, formerly stood at the south side of the 
Cathedral of Notre-Dame. It was a large building of the 
Eighteenth Century, and was fitted up magnificently, besides 
containing a valuable library. In February, 1831, it was 
attacked and plundered by the mob which had just gutted 
the church of Saint Germain I'Auxerrois. The library and 
valuables of the palace were thrown into the river or carried 
off, and the building almost entirely demolished. The 
present Archepiscopal residence is the old Hotel Duchatelet, 
in the Rue de Grenelle Saint Germain, not far from the 
Hotel des Invalides. It was formerly the Austrian Embassy, 
and it is one of the best remaining specimens of the architec- 
ture of the age of Louis XIV. A plan is now on foot to 
build a new residence for the Archbishop. 

The Minisih-es, or offices of the various Departments of 
the Government, are ten in number, and each is presided 
over by a Minister appointed by and responsible to the 
Emperor. Besides these are three " Ministers Without Port- 



406 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



folio," whose duty is to attend the sessions of the Legislature, 
and explain and defend the policy of the Government. 

The Ministry of -State is located in the gallery of the new 
Louvre facing the Rue cle Bivoli. This department waa 
created under the First Empire, and re-established by the 
present Sovereign. The Minister placed over it is in 




Ministry of Foreign Affairs. 

cliarge of the relations between the Executive and Legis- 
lative branches of the Government; he countersigns the 
Imperial decrees, and the foreign dispatches of the other 
departments; conducts the of&cial publications in the news- 
papers; supervises the administration of the Council of State, 
of the Legion of Honor, and of the Imperial Asylum of 
Saverne ; keeps the archives of the Empire ; has the direction 
of the schools of Fine Arts, (at Paris, at Eome, and at Athens,) 
of the Museums, Theatres, of Schools of design and of music, 
and of the libraries, and is charged with the preservation of his- 
toric monuments, and the construction of public works of art. 
The Ministry of the Imperial Household is in the north 
D-allerv of the new Louvre. The Minister is charued with 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 407 

the administration of tlie civil list, the palaces, parks, forests, 
gardens, and all other State property belonging to the crown. 
He also acts as the Emperor's steward in managing his 
private property, and employs and discharges all persons 
connected with the household of the sovereign, or those of 
the Princes and Princesses of the Imperial family. 

The Ministry of Justice is, situated on the Place Yendome, 
but this is merely the residence of the Minister, the oiiEices 
being located in the Rue de Luxembourg. The Minister is 
charged with the general supervision of the judicial system 
of the Empire. He is keeper of the seals and master of the 
rolls of the Empire. He promulgates the laws and sees that 
they are enforced. Applications for permission to marry 
one's relative must be addressed to him, also petitions for 
naturalization. All appeals for the pardon of crimes are 
referred to him, and it is said the Emperor is usually guided 
by his decision. He appoints and removes the greater part 
of tlie legal officers of the Empire. 

The Ministnj of Foreign Affairs is situated next to the hotel 
of the President of the Corps Legislatif, and fronts on the 
Rue de I'Universite. It is a magnificent building in the 
Italian style, and is fitted up with great luxury internally. 
The State apartments are very elaborate. The Minister is 
charged with the relations of the Empire with foreign powers. 
He conducts the correspondence between the Government 
and its diplomatic agents abroad, and with those of foreign 
States, residing near the Emperor, and negotiates all treaties 
of alliance, and commerce, and supervises their execution. 
He retains all the archives relating to his department. 

The Ministry of the Interior is located in the old Hotel 
Beauvau, in the Place Beauvau. It is a very handsome edifice. 
The Minister has the general direction of the Police Establish- 
ment of the Empire. He issues the instructions of the 



408 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

prefects and commissaries, watches over the public safety, 
manages the prison discipline, and exercises a surveillance 
over the publications of the country, and directs the adminis- 
tration of the telegraph. 

The Ministry of Finance^ or Treasury, is situated on the 
Rue de Eivoli between the Rues de Castiglione and de Lux 
embourg. The Minister is charged with the duties generally 
appertaining to the head of the financial department of a 
government, and is also charged with the control of the 
tobacco monopoly of the Empire. 

The Ministry of War is situated on the south side of the 
Seine, in the Rue Saint Dominique-Saint-Grermain. It oc- 
cupies the ancient convent of Filles de Saint Joseph, and a 
number of large buildings which have been added one after 
another to meet the wants of the department. The Minister 
is charged with everything relating to the defence of the 
State, the recruiting and organization of the army, and the 
general disposition of the forces and of military affairs. His 
orders in all military matters are superior to all others but 
those of the Emperor. The Depot of TTar, which is a branch 
of this department, prepares and publishes the official map 
of FmiK-e, and possesses a magnificent library of military 
works, and an extensive series of maps, plans, and papers of 
all kinds relating to the military history of France and of 
Europe. 

The Ministry of the Marine and of the Colonies is situated at 
the northern extremity of the Place de la Concorde. It occu- 
pies a magnificent palace, which is one of the principal orna 
ments of tluit splendid square. The Minister is charged with 
the control of the marine service of the country and all its 
details. I-Ie exercises a supervision of the mercantile service, 
the fisheries, the harbor police and coast guard, and the 
pension list of the navy. The Marine Depot^ a branch of 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 409 

this department, prepares and publishes plans and charts 
relating to the service, and keeps the library (28,000 volumes) 
and the archives of the ministry. 

The Colonial branch is in charge of all matters relating to 
the Colonies, and has exclusive control of these dependencies, 
with the exception of Algeria, which is ruled by a Governor 
Greneral, responsible only to the Emperor. 

The Ministry of Puhlic Instruction and of Worship is located 
in the Rue de Grenelle-Saint-Germain. The Minister is 
charged with the control and direction of the educational 
system of the country, as has been explained in the chapter 
relating to the schools. He also directs the religious affairs 
of the Empire, as far as the Constitution permits the inter- 
ference of the State. 

The Ministry of Agriculture^ of Commerce, and of Puhlic 
Works is situated in the Rue-Saint-Dominique-Saint-Germain. 
The Minister encourages and promotes agricultural enter- 
prises, offers and distributes rewards for agricultural successes, 
and in short manages that branch of the government which 
seeks to promote and develop to the highest perfection 
rural industry of all kinds. He watches over the commerce 
and business enterprises of the countr}'- and its relations of 
this kind with foreign lands, supervises the insurance system, 
has a general surveillance of the railroads, ordinary roads, 
navigable rivers, canals, mines, irrigation and other public 
works of the Empire. He has charge of the census and of 
the collection and publication of all statistics relating to the 
wealth and progress of France. This is one of the most 
important branches, if not the most necessary, of the govern- 
ment, since its duty is to promote and extend the material 
development of the country. It adds to the comfort a«d 
wealth of the nation, and prepares the way for the success of 
all the other departments of the public service. 



THE IMPERIAL FAMILY. 
I. 

THE EMPEROE NAPOLEON THE THIED. 

There are perhaps no three persons in the world who 
have attracted so much attention, and have been the subjects 
of so many conflicting statements as the Emperor Napoleon 
the Third, his wife, and son. With their friends they are 
faultless ; ^^^th their enemies they are all that is bad, so that 
it is impossible, without the greatest pains and most. con- 
scientious fairness, to arrive at a true understanding of their 
characters. Laboring under all the disadvantages of a 
stranger and a foreigner, I have hesitated to introduce the 
topic here, but my desire to make this work as complete 
as possible leaves me no choice. 

The full name of the Emperor is Charles Louis Na- 
poleon Bonaparte. Pie is the third son of Louis Bona- 
pai'te, the youngest brother of the Great Napoleon, and at 
one time King of Holland, and, of Hortense Beauharnais, 
the only daughter of the Empress Josephine, by her first 
husband. He was born at Paris on the 20th of April, 1808, 
and is consequently in his sixty-second year. He is the 
only French sovereign ever born at Paris, and was the first 
Prince of the Napoleon dynasty born under the Empire ; 
and the announcement of his birth was greeted with salutes 
410 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 411 

of artillery from Paris to the remotest post held by the 
Grand Army. He was baptized with great pomp by his 
relative, Cardinal Fesch, at Fontainebleau, in 1810, his 
sponsors being the Emperor Napoleon I. and the Empress 
Marie Louise. His early years were passed amidst the 
falling fortunes of his house, and his boyhood and early 
manhood in exile. He saw but little of his father in conse- 
quence of a separation between his parents, but received the 
constant and watchful care of one of the best of mothers. He 
was studious, quiet, and thoughtful beyond his years. He 
was generous to a fault, and there are several well authen- 
ticated stories of the marked degree in which this trait 
developed itself during his childhood. 

Upon one occasion, having been forbidden by his tutor to 
go beyond the walls of his mother's garden, he was seen 
making his way to his room without coat, hat, or shoes, 
although the snow lay on the ground. He was endeavoring 
to avoid observation when he was discovered by his mother, 
who at once demanded to know the cause of his strange 
plight. After considerable urging, he told her that he had 
seen a poor family go by the garden-gate, in great destitu- 
tion, and had given his hat to one of the poor children, his 
coat to another, and his shoes to the third. 

Upon reaching manhood, he was the possessor of an ex- 
cellent education, and excelled in athletic sports. Soon 
after this he became engaged in the Roman revolt of 1830, 
and showed such high military talent that he was given an 
important command. His father, wishing to draw him from 
the revolt, set to work to neutralize his influence, and suc- 
ceeded in doing so. The outbreak proved a failure, and 
those concerned in it were obliged to seek safety in flight. 
Louis Napoleon lost his elder brother by sickness in the 
attempt to escape, and was with great difficulty gotten out 



412 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

of Italy by his mother. Being anxious to return to his 
native country, he asked permission to dwell in France, 
but was refused by the government of Louis Philippe, 
which feared to allow the heir of the Great Emperor to 
return to the people who loved him so well. Conde-mned 
thus to unmerited exile, he went with his mother to 
Switzerland, where he resided with her for several years, 
devoting himself to study and athletic pursuits. He was a 
great favorite with the Swiss, and received from them many 
proofs of their high regard for him. He achieved an envi- 
able reputation as an author, during his residence here, by 
the publication of several works of high character. He 
was offered the hand of the young Queen of Portugal, but 
declined it. 

In his twenty-eighth year he made his first effort to re- 
trieve the fortunes of his family and win back the crown 
that had been wrested from his uncle by the combined 
world. He had every reason to believe that he would be 
successful. Louis Philippe and his ministers constantly 
exhibited the greatest fear of him, proving by their conduct 
the popularity of his cause with the nation ; and he was 
given proofs innumerable that the French people not only 
would sustain him in an effort to drive out the Bourbons, 
but were anxious for him to make the attempt. In 1836 
he made his famous effort at Strasbourg. He was unsuc- 
cessful, and was captured, and, without trial, was hurried 
out of the country to America. He remained here only a 
short time, and then Avent back to Europe in time to stand 
by the death-bed of the mother he loved so tenderly. He 
remained in Switzerland until the French Government 
threatened that country with war if it did not expel him. 
The Swiss would have stood by him to the last, and even 
went so far as to take up arms in his defence, but he gen 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 413 

erouslj removed all cause for hostilities by voluntarily- 
abandoning his home and retiring to England. There he 
devoted himself to literary pursuits, and in August, 1840, 
made a second attempt, this time at Boulogne, to get pos- 
session of the French throne. He was again unsuccessful, 
and was made a prisoner. He was tried before a court 
composed of his enemies, and sentenced to imprisonment. 
The Government was anxious to condemn him to death, 
but was too well convinced that the people would not 
permit such a step to venture upon it. The Prince was 
therefore sent to the Castle of Ham, a gloomy old fortress 
of the Middle Ages, where he remained a prisoner for 
nearly six years. In May, 184:6, he effected his escape in 
a most marvellous manner, and succeeded in reaching 
England. 

Upon the organization of the Eepublic of 1848, Louis 
Napoleon was elected by several departments to a seat in the 
National Assembly. The extreme Eepublicans, or Socialists, 
who were as much his enemies as the Bourbons had been, 
endeavored to embarrass him, and even to arrest him in 
order to prevent his taking his seat, but the popular will 
was too strong to be resisted, and he passed over from Eng- 
land to France, and entered iipon his duties. He was soon 
after elected President of the French Eepublic by a majority 
of more than three and a half millions of votes over all his 
rivals. He was duly installed in his ofiice, but was harassed 
and vexed with a factious opposition which crippled France 
and paralyzed all its resources. As the only means of saving 
the country from ruin he inaugurated a series of measures, 
commencing on the 2d of December, 1851, by which he 
overthrew the National Assembly and its supporters, and 
secured all the power to himself. He appealed to the people 
to pass judgment on his conduct, and they replied by electing 



414 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

him President for ten years, with increased powers ; and 
soon after raised him to the throne of France by the largest 
popular vote ever polled in the country. The Empire was 
established on the 1st of December, 1852, and the next day 
the Emperor made his public entry into Paris, and took up 
his residence at the Tuileries. In January, 1853, he married 
the young and beautiful Countess of Teba, by whom he has 
had one son, born in March, 1856. 

The leading events of the reign of Napoleon III., may be 
summed up as follows : The successful war with Russia, the 
freeing of Italy, and the elevation of his country to the high- 
est state of glory and material prosperity she has ever known. 
His Mexican venture proved a failure, but I am much mis- 
taken if time does not vindicate his course in connection with 
it ; but even if this should not be so, the affair will be but 
one failure in a long list of successful great deeds. 

As a Puler, the Emperor is wiser and firmer than any 
that has sat on the French throne since the days of the 
founder of his dynasty, and compares only with him. His 
natural and acquired gifts were from his early manhood too 
decided to allow him to lead a life of mediocrity, and he had 
already won fame as a writer, before he achieved the renown 
as a statesman which will hand his name down to posterity. 
Possessing moral and physical courage of the highest order, 
he has never shrunk from any trial into which his duty 
called him. He has faced death more than once, and has 
encountered the opposition of the world for the sake of his 
political convictions. He has conferred benefits innumerable 
upon every part of his country, and has gradually placed her 
in a condition of assured prosperity and greatness, which 
will last long after he has passed away. He is one of the 
few monarchs of the world who have dared to do right from 
principle. Unmoved by popular denunciation, he has silently 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 415 

pursued his course, and has had the rare fortune of seeing 
ahxiost every act vindicated and sustained by the course of 
events. Nothing but his wonderful moral courage and more 
than heroic firmness saved Europe from a desolating war, in 
1859, and gave Italy time to build up her nationality. Even 
though the Italians hated and cursed him, and even plotted 
against his life, he worked for them faithfully and silently, 
and, more than all, successfully. Whatever Italy may be in 
the future she will owe to him, for he not only fought for 
her in 1859, but he alone kept back her enemies and gave 
her an opportunity of completing the organization which has 
made her people one. 

Having experienced both adversity and good fortune, the 
Emperor is not the man to place an unreal value upon life, 
or to underestimate its duties. The firmness with which he 
supported his misfortunes is equalled by the dignity with 
which he has borne his honors. No misfortune could crush 
him, and no success unduly elate him. He has never spared 
himself, and he is naturally exacting of those who work with 
him. Yet he is kind and generous to his friends, and 
merciful to his enemies. He has but two great passions — 
his country and his little family. He is very feeble in health, 
but is, perhaps, the most industrious man, the hardest worker 
in Europe. His disposition is said to be wonderfully cheerful 
and hopeful, even amidst the severest trials and sufferings. 
Only a little while ago, I saw a most interesting letter, des- 
cribing the terrible sufferings of the Emperor, and the patient 
and gentle manner in which he endured them, and his un- 
varying kindness to those attendant upon him. 

During his early life the Emperor was rather free in his 
habits, and his present troubles are said to be due to his 
dissipation at that time as well as to the severe labors of his 
maturer years. You will hear all sorts of gossip in Paris 



416 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

about him. Doubtless tbere is truth in some of the reports 
that are afloat, but there can be no doubt that the majority 
of them are pure libels. You will be told these things with 
a minuteness which could not be equalled by one who never 
lost sight of his Majesty for a single moment. Eemarks are 
attributed to him — the most silent and discreet of men — 
which the merest simpleton would not give utterance to. 
Even his most sacred relationships are pried into and 
gossipped about with a recklessness and audacity truly 
Parisian. The Emperor keeps his own counsel about this, 
but he must be more than human if he is not annoyed by it. 

Amongst other stories told about him is the following : 
While he was living in England he became enamored of a 
young lady of wealth and position, and offered her his hand. 
She immediately refused him, for he was then poor and in 
exile, and she did not share the hope that cheered his 
poverty. He took his rejection in good part, and did not re- 
new his advances. After he became President of the Ee- 
public of 1848, the lady, still young and beautiful, thinking 
that he might not have forgotten his early love, repaired to 
Paris, and showed herself obtrusively at the receptions at the 
Elysee. President Bonaparte winked prodigiously hard, it is 
said, but was not slow in convincing the lady that he saw 
tlirough her little game, and that her efforts were useless. 

The Paris gossips tell you that his Majesty has not always 
been a model husband, viewed according to our Anglo Saxon 
notions. Rumor has given him mistresses by the score, and 
he is charged with intrigues almost innumerable, many of 
them of an utterly improbable nature. The truth is, doubt- 
less, that the Emperor like the rest of his countrymen, regards 
an affair of this kind as admissable to say the least, and has 
engaged in them at times. There is, of course, no proof 
either against him or in his favor, but it is very certain that 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 417 

two- thirds, if not all, of the people of Paris religiously be- 
lieve the stories that are told concerning him. How these 
stories originate, it is difficult to tell, but as a specimen of 
them, the reader may take the following : 

" Since the marriage of the Emperor he has been attracted 
by the potent charms of at least two women, who have suc- 
ceeded in leading him into lamentable lapses from conjugal 
fidelity. The first of these was Mademoiselle Lautre, a 
yonug 23ri7na donna of the Grand Opera of Paris. This lady 
was very beautiful, and very talented ; and she so directed the 
expressive glances of her dark voluptuous eyes towards the 
Imperial box, as to succeed in planting a love-dart in the 
bosom of its chief occupant. Her salary was immediately 
doubled ; and when the fascinating cantaLrice complained to 
her Imperial lover in a moment of tenderness that the Opera 
House was very badly arranged to display the peculiar merits 
of her voice, he instantly replied : ' Set fire to it, and I will 
build you another.' But the fair artist was deficient, not in 
beauty, nor in passion, but in discretion; and the liaison did 
not very long continue. 

" The second inamorata of the Emperor since his marriage 
was the noble and beautiful Countess de Castiglione. This 
lady was a native of Milan in Lombardy, ^nd she belonged to 
one of those ancient and distinguished Lombard families, a 
portion of whom reside in Piedmont. Both at Turin and 
at Milan the ladies of the Castiglione family have long been 
renowned for their great beauty. Madame Castiglione had 
a good-natured husband, with whom she lived apparently on 
the best possible terms. She was not only a beautiful woman, 
but was also highly intellectual, accomplished, and refined. 
She never assumed the airs of a mistress, or the authority of 
a favorite, during the period of her connection with the Em- 
[ieror. Her high birth and breeding prevented any such dis- 



418 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

play of vulgarity ; but certain it is that, for a time, the spell 
which she cast upon the Imperial mind and fancy was power- 
ful in the extreme. The gentle Eugenie strove in vain to 
conjure against the fascinating Italian magician. Time at 
length accomplished for the Empress what her own charms 
had failed to do; and an incident occurred on the 30th of 
April, 1857, which showed publicly that the reign of the 
haughty daughter of Italy, for .some mysterious and un- 
known reason had terminated. The Emperor and Empress 
were present at the revival of a well-known and admired 
opera written by Etienne and Nicolo, called Joconde. A 
Dopular romance closes with these words : 

" ' On devient infidfele 

On court de belle en belle, 
Mais on revient toujours, 
A ses premiers amours."" 

Which maj'" be rendered as follows: 

" ' Oft we turn from fair to fair, 
Faithless as the summer air, 
But wherever we may rove, 
Still we turn to our first love.' 

" When this couplet was recited, Louis Napoleon looked 
significantly at the Empress, and nodded his head so decidedly, 
that the audience at once remarked and applauded the act. 
Eugenie blushed profusely, yet smiled sweetly in token of 
her joy. The very next day the fair and proud Countess de 
Castiglione started, with her complacent husband, for Italy." 

I heard a story connected with the reign of this same 
Countess, which is worth repeating, though I cannot vouch 
for its truth. A State ball was given at the Tuileries. The 
Countess was present, and was the object of the marked 
attentions of tlie Emperor. Suddenly there was a commotion 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 419 

in the throng of guests, and in an instant they gave way as 
if some grand dignitary was approaching. The Emperor 
and his fair companion naturally turned to see the cause of 
this movement, and the lady beheld a sight which set her 
Italian blood on tire. A small poodle dog was advancing 
up the hall, clad in the exact counterfeit of the costume worn 
by the Countess. The imitation was perfect, and the dog 
seemed highly delighted with its good fortune. The insult 
was keen, and went straight to the mark, as was meant. The 
Emperor at once set on foot an investigation to discover the 
author of the " outrage," but soon dropped it, as he found 
that the affair was gotten up by order of the Empress, who 
had adopted this means of humiliating her rival. 

It is likely, however, that many of the stories are not true, 
for there can be no doubt of the fact that the Imperial family 
constitute in themselves one of the happiest and most devoted 
households in the world. Their mode of life is simple and 
pleasant, and they find their greatest pleasure in each other. 
One who had been admitted to the little circle, once said to 
me that she had never seen a more charming man than the 
Emperor, in his own family. The mode of life of the Impe- 
rial family is thus described in a letter written two years ago. 
Since then the General Rollin mentioned in it has died: 

"At seven o'clock the Emperor enters his closet. The 
first persons his Majesty receives are Dr. Conneau, the mana- 
ger of the Imperial charities, and M. Th. Melin, the treasurer 
of the privy purse. They come to report the alms they dis- 
tributed the previous day, and to receive instructions for the 
distributions to be made during the day. When they leave 
his Majesty they repair to the Empress and to the Imperial 
prince, who young as he is, already has his poor and his 
wretched dependents. After their departure, M. Conti, the 
chief secretary, and M. Pietri, the private secretary, come to 



420 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

report the petitions addressed to his Majesty on the previous 
day, and to receive his orders thereupon. These visits 
occupy his Majesty until ten o'clock. Then Felix introduces 
the learned men, writers and artists from whom his Majesty 
has ordered work, and who come to present it. A little 
before twelve o'clock, M., the grand officers (grand chamber- 
lain, etc.) come to the Imperial closet to make their respective 
reports. 

"At twelve o'clock the Emperor goes up stairs to break- 
fast in the Empress's rooms. There is nobody present at 
this breakfast except his Majesty, the Empress and the Impe- 
rial prince. The meal lasts about half an hour. The Empe- 
ror then remains some time to talk with his son and with the 
officers and ladies of service. He then returns to his closet 
and the audiences begin. They are given to ministers, am- 
bassadors, presidents of senate, council of State, and legisla- 
tive chamber, the higher functionaries of State, who wish to 
see the Emperor, and to persons to whom his Majesty grants 
a special audience. These audiences are rarely ended before 
three or four o'clock. Then the Emperor drives out to the 
Bois de Boulogne or to visit public works, manufactories, or 
charitable institutions. He commonly returns to the Tuiler- 
ies by six o'clock. 

"Dinner is served at seven. The Emperor, Empress, and 
Imperial prince, and all the service, are present at this meal. 
By the expression, all the service, is meant the aides-de-camp, 
ordnance officers, chamberlains, equerries, and the ladies-in- 
waiting. At State dinners the Empress sits in front of his 
Majesty ; on these ordinary dinners she sits by the Emperor's 
side. General Rollin, the adjutant-general of the palace, sits 
in front of their Majesties. On the Emperor's left is the 
'grand day' lady-in-waiting; on General Rollin's right is the 
'petty day' lady-in-waiting. The 'grand day' lady-in-wait 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 421 

ing is the lady who in turn of service is of precedence ; for 
instance, she rides out with the Empress when her Majesty 
takes a drive ; while the ' petty day ' lady remains at the 
palace or rides in the second or third carriage. As the two 
ladies-in-waiting, who are each week of service alternately, 
and each in turn, the first in the cycle of service, they are 
respectively called the 'grand day' lady-in-waiting or the 
* petty day ' lady in-waiting, according to the order of their 
service. The ordnance officers are likewise alternately the 
' grand day ' and the ' petty day ' ordnance officer. As there 
is but one aide-de-camp, and as he is, next to General Rollin, 
the highest in grade of the persons at the table, he commonly 
sits on the Empress's right. 

"After dinner their Majesties go to the drawing-room. They 
remain there about an hour, which is spent in conversation 
or in playing some game of calculation or skill. Cards are 
never seen at the Tuileries. The favorite occupation of these 
after dinner hours recently, was the construction of working 
people's houses. The Emperor and Empress, who give a 
great deal of thought to this, build small houses with bits of 
wood and pasteboard. Each had his own plan, executed it 
in the evening, and defended it against the criticisms and 
objections of other persons. We shall next year see the 
Emperor and Empress figure as exhibitors with their working- 
people's houses at the Universal Exhibition. About nine or 
ten o'clock the Emperor returns to his closet, and works until 
he goes to bed." 

This closet, or cabinet, is said to be a curious room, being 
more for work than for ornament. Yet everything is scru- 
pulously neat, for the Emperor is a dear lover of order, and 
it is said to be one of his chief amusements to change the 
arrangement of his books and the other contents of the room, 
according to the whim of the moment. It has been the scene 



422 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

of hard work, too, for apart from his engrossiug duties as the 
chief of the State, the Emperor is one of the closest and most 
industrious students of modern times. Since his elevation 
to the throne he has published his masterly life of Caesar and 
a number of pamphlets to which he has not af&xed his name. 
These works have more than sustained the early reputation 
that he won in the field of letters. He is well read in the 
literature of the day, and is a warm friend to struggling 
genius of all kinds. 

"The Emperor," says a recent Paris letter, "cannot bear 
to have solemn people about him. lie insists upon business 
being treated with the ease and airiness men of the world 
should carry into every transaction of life. He likes versatile 
men, who can in his study, treat the gravest public questions, 
and in his dining-room give wings to the hours by curious 
anecdotes or happy repartee. The Emperor prides himself 
on possessing these social faculties which throw buoyancy 
into the heaviest business, and has a contempt for men who 
lack them." 

No wonder he is fond of cheerfulness, for his is a weary 
lot — to work so hard for an ungrateful people. He has the 
most tired face in Europe. Time has left its marks upon 
him, and he is looking old, but the shadow that is deepening 
on his brow is weariness, not age. Call him tyrant, usurper, 
what you will; but when he is gone will those who are left 
watch over his France with such sleepless vigilance ? "Will 
they toil as he has done with brain and heart for her greatness 
and prosperity ? Whatever he has been to others, he has 
been faithful and true to her, and she will miss him when he 
is taken a.\Yiij. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 423 

11. 

THE EMPEESS EUGENIE. 

When the Emperor Napoleon found himself securely seated 
on the throne of Finance, he began to look about him for 
a partner to share his crown. It is said that his first wish 
Avas to ally himself with some of the Eoyal families of 
Europe ; but royalty turned up its nose at the " upstart," as 
the old fogies called him, and declined his offer. This 
brought him to his senses, and determined him to pursue 
the only course consistent with his history — to wed a woman 
of his own rank, who like himself sprang from the people, 
and could share his sympathy with them. Discarding all 
notions of State policy, he determined to please himself, and 
make what is usually known as a " love match." 

During the winter and spring succeeding the establishment 
of the Empire, the brilliant society of Paris received an 
acquisition in the beautiful and accomplished Eugt^nie de 
Montijo, Countess of Teba, daughter of the dowager Countess 
of Montijo. The history of the beautiful stranger is most 
interesting, and is thus related by Mr. Abbot, in his Life of 
Napoleon III. 

" In the City of Malaga, in Southern Spain, there was, 
half a century ago, in one of its streets called St. Juan de 
Dios, a stately mansion, which was the favorite resort of all the 
most refined and intellectual society in the city. Mr. Kirk- 
patrick, a Scotch gentleman, opulent, and engaged in extensive 
trade, occupied the mansion. It is said that he was at that 
time British Consul at the port of Malaga. He had married 
a Spanish lady of position and accomplishments — Signora 
Francisca Gravisne. Three daughters of remarkable beautv 



424 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

and attractions — Maria, Carlotta, and Henriqneta — were the 
ornaments of their household. 

"As all strangers of distinction were welcomed at their 
hospitable board, and as the best native society of Malaga 
met in their drawing-rooms, the young ladies enjoyed every 
advantage from the combined influence of English intelligence 
and Spanish grace ; and the family, in its social attractions, 
stood at the head of society in Malaga. Of the three daughters 
— r-Maria, Carlotta, and Henriqueta — the eldest, Maria, was 
described as a brunette developing the richest style of Spanish 
beauty. She was tall, of exquisitely moulded form, with 
piercing black eyes, and very animated features. 

" Carlotta, the second daughter, blended more of the 
Saxon element in her frame. She was a blonde, with 
light hair, and a very pure, fair complexion ; and the con- 
noisseurs in beauty disputed as to which of the two sisters 
had the highest claims to personal loveliness. The renown 
of the family was such, that it was considered a great dis- 
tinction to obtain an introduction to their salon. 

" A Spanish gentleman of noble birth, large fortune, and 
much celebrity for his military achievements — Cipriano 
Palafox, Count de Teba — married Maria. Like many others 
of the most noble men in Spain, weary of the miserable 
government of the Spanish Bourbons, he had welcomed the 
efforts of Napoleon to rescue the Peninsula from the tyranny 
of the old regime^ and to infuse into the government the 
principles of popular liberty to which the Eevolution had 
given birth. He had consequently fought in cooperation with 
the French army ; and he bore many wounds in attestation 
of his zeal and bravery. 

"The marriage of Cipriano Palafox, Count de Teba, to 
Maria Kirkpatrick, took place in 1819. Maria accompanied 
her husband to Madrid, where she was presented at court. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 425 

Her beantj and her brilliant mental endowments rendered 
her a great favorite with the Queen, Maria Christina, and 
she was soon appointed to the most distinguished female 
office in the court — that of first lady of honor. 

" Carlotta soon after this married her cousin, an English- 
man, the sou of John Kirkpatrick, her father's brother. 
John Kirkpatrick was paymaster, under the Duke of Welling- 
ton, until the downfall of Napoleon. He afterwards became 
a banker in Paris. The third daughter, Henriqueta, married 
a wealthy sugar-planter. Count Caborras, the proprietor of a 
fine plantation near Yelez Malaga. 

" Cipriano Palafox, in addition to his title of Count de 
Teba, inherited the title and fortune of his elder brother, 
Count Montijo, who died as captain-general of Andalusia. 
Maria enjoyed but a few years of married life. Cipriano 
soon died, leaving her enceinte. On the 5th of May, 1826, or, 
according to some authorities, in 1824:, she gave birth to a 
daughter, to whom she gave the name of Eugenie. The 
child was very beautiful and very attractive. As her mother 
was in possession of a large fortune, and was a conspicuous 
member of the Spanish court, which was celebrated for its 
splendor and its punctilios of etiquette, Eugenie enjoyed 
every advantage which any one could possess for polished 
culture, from infancy she was trained in the observance of 
all courtly forms. 

'• Blending in her person the blood of the English and 
Spanish races, she is said to blend in her character the best 
qualities of both nations. Her excellent mother secured for 
her a finished education. As she matured, she developed 
extraordinary loveliness of person, brightness of intellect, 
and all those social charms which can captivate the heart. 
Speaking English, Spanish, and French with equal fluency, 
the distinguished of all countries gathered around her, and 



426 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

were alike fascinated with her beauty, her amiability, and 
her sparkling intelligence. ' Her beauty was delicate and 
fair, from her English ancestry ; whilst her grace was all 
Spanish, and her wit all French.' 

"It will be remembered that one of Eugenie's aunts had 
married a cousin, an English gentleman, who subsequently 
became a banker in Paris. Soon after the accession of Louis 
Napoleon to power, Eugenie, with the title of Countess de 
Teba, accompanying her mother the Countess de Montijo, 
visited the French metropolis. 

" Instantly the young Spanish beauty attracted attention 
and admiration. She was- introduced to the court and at 
once was recognized as one of its most conspicuous orna- 
ments. She had been religiously educated, scrupulously 
conforming her conduct to the doctrines and the rites of the 
Catholic Church, in whose communion she had been born, 
and in whose tenets she had been thoroughly instructed. 
Her character had ever been that of an earnest and devout 
Christian. ' There is not one well authenticated adventure 
which can be told to her disadvantage.' " 

The beauty and accomplishments of the young Countess 
at once attracted the attention of Napoleon, and it was 
soon rumored that she was to share his throne. This 
rumor was confirmed on the 22d of January, 1853, by 
the oflS-cial announcement by the Emperor to the Senate, 
of his approaching marriage. On this occasion, the Em- 
peror spoke of his intended bride as follows : 

" She who has been the object of my preference is of 
princely descent. French in heart, by educati'-^n, and the 
recollection of the blood shed by her father in the cause 
of the Empire, she has, as a Spaniard, the advantage of 
not having in France a family to whom it might be neces- 
sary to give honors and fortune. Endowed with all the 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 427 

qualities of the mind, she will be tlie ornament of the 
throne. In the day of danger she would be one of its 
courageous supporters. A Catholic, she will address to 
heaven the same prayers with me for the happiness of 
France. In fine, by her grace and her goodness, she will, 
I firmly hope, endeavor to revive in the same position the 
virtues of the Empress Josephine. 

" I come then, gentlemen, to announce that I have pre- 
ferred the woman whom I love and whom I respect, to 
one who is unknown, and whose alliance would have had 
advantages mingled with sacrifices. Without despising 
any one, I yet yield to my inclinations, ufter having taking 
counsel with my reason and my convictions. In fine, by 
placing independence, the qualities of the heart, domestic 
happiness, above dynastic prejudices and the calculations 
of ambition, I shall not be less strong because I shall be 
more free. 

" Proceeding immediately to the Notre Dame, I shall 
present the Empress to the people and to the army. The 
confidence which they have in me assures me of their 
sympathy ; and you, gentlemen, on better knowing her 
whom I have chosen, will agree that on this occasion, as 
on some others, I have been inspired by Providence." 

The civil marriage of the Emperor and the Countess of 
Teba was celebrated at the Tuileries on the 29th of Jan- 
uary, 1853, and the religious ceremonies took place the 
next day (Sunday) at Notre Dame. The grand old church 
was decorated with great magnificence, and was filled with 
an august assemblage. The Emperor and Empress sat on 
two thrones in front of the high altar, and the Archbishop 
of Paris, assisted by a gorgeous array of priests, performed 
the nuptial ceremony. 

Besides winning one of the most beautiful women in 



428 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Paris, tne Emperor found a good wife. In private life the 
Empress has set a noble example in all the womanly virtues 
to the people of her country. She has been a good wife 
and mother, and has gained a hold upon the affections of 
the French people which is said to be stronger even than 
that possessed by the Emperor himself. Her devotion to 
her family is her strongest feeling. Upon one occasion, 
when an attempt was made to assassinate the Emperor and 
herself, she exhibited this feeling in a marked degree. It 
was night, and the Imperial carriage, which was on its way 
to the opera, had been terribly injured by the explosion of 
an infernal machine, which had killed and wounded a num- 
ber of the attendants. Some one, wishing to make sure of 
the safety of their Majesties, opened the carriage-door hur- 
riedly, and the Empress, supposing it was an assassin, threw 
herself before her husband to receive the blow she supposed 
intended for him. Nor was courage the only virtue which 
this affair caused her to display. Although the efforts of 
the assassins had been directed against her own life and 
her husband's she exerted herself to save them from the 
doom they so richly merited, and even succeeded in averting 
the death penalty from one of the least prominent. 

During the recent prevalence of the cholera in Paris, the 
Empress was foremost in the efforts to give relief to the 
sufferers, and did not shrink from the trying ordeal of visit- 
ing the plague hospitals and speaking words of hope and 
comfort to the sufferers. Several of the ladies of her Court 
desired to accompany her, but she refused to allow them to 
do so, saying that although her duty required her to incur the 
risk which would attend her visit, there was no reason why 
they should subject themselves to the danger of the infection 

Those who have seen her Majesty in private, describe her 
as exceedingly pleasant and artless in her manners. Her 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 429 

disposition is naturally tender and impetuous. She is said 
to find her high rank rather irksome at times, as it frequently 
compels her to control the impulsive and afiectionate out- 
bursts of her nature, and assume the cold and stately manners 
of the court society. She has been the constant attendant of 
her husband and son in their frequent illnesses, and seems to 
find her highest pleasures in their society. 

Her beauty and grace, as well as her exquisite taste in 
matters of dress, are too well known to need mention here. 

She is a devout Catholic. Indeed her people say that her 
leaning towards the Church is a little too decided for a 
French Sovereign, and you will hear complaints that she is 
too much under Jesuitical influences. Excess of religion is 
so much of novelty in an occupant of the French throne, that 
it should not be hastily condemned, but we may hope that her 
Majesty will find before it is too late that the interests of her 
people are too radically opposed to those of Jesuitism to 
permit of any harmony between them. Eumor has it that 
the most intimate friend and confidante of her Majesty is one 
Sister Patrocinio, a Spanish Nun, who is thus described in a 
recent Paris letter : 

" A strange figure, indeed, is this busy Patrocinio. Her 
dress is of black serge, with a long-peaked waist ; her skirt, 
which sweeps the ground, is full and thickly plaited ; a stifl", 
fluted ruff encircles her neck and reminds one of the old 
Spanish portraits of the Middle Ages; a broad cambric band 
is laid across her forehead ; over this a black veil, which falls 
on both sides of her face, and on the top, when out in the 
streets or to church, a broad felt hat, somewhat raised at the 
sides — a kind of Flemish riding headpiece that carries one 
back to the Fifteenth Century. She is generally accompanied 
by the chaplain of her little flock at Montmorency, and comes 
in by the first train every morning to St. Sulpice. After 



430 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

mass sho returns to the SpanisTi nuns, receives visitors from 
all the grandees and calls on princesses and ambassadresses. 
Her features are sharp and angular, her lips compressed, her 
cheeks hollow ; her eyes are full, round and of intense lustre. 
Such is the confidante of an ex-queen and reigning Empress. 
The energy of Sister Patrocinio is undoubted." 

Her Majesty is very charitable, and has made many friends 
by the quiet but liberal manner in which she has sought to 
relieve distress of all kinds. Upon the occasion of her mar- 
riage, the City of Paris voted a very large sum for the pur- 
chase of diamonds for her, leaving her to select the jewels. 
She accepted the gift, but with characteristic generosity ap- 
plied it to the foundation of a charitable institution for the 
education of young girls belonging to the working classes. 

At the outbreak of the Italian war, one of the regiments 
of the Imperial Guard, on its way to Italy, stopped at the 
Tuileries to receive its colors. The GantinQre of the regi- 
ment presented herself at the of&ce of the Secretary of the 
Empress, with her child, a little girl, six or eight years old, 
and exclaimed, " Grentlemen, I leave you my child. Conduct 
her to the Empress. I know that she will take good care of 
her until I return from Austria." 

She then departed leaving the child. The Empress was at 
once informed of the circumstance, and had the child well 
cared for at her private expense until the mother came back 
from the war. 

A very striking illustration of the popularity of the Impe- 
rial family was aftbrded at the departure of the Emperor 
from Paris to assume the command of the army in Ital}'', in 
1859. Upon this occasion the Empress accompanied her 
husband to the Lyons railway station to bid him adieu. 

" The carriages proceeded slowly through the thronged 
streets, followed but not surrounded by the guard. The 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 431 

workmen of I'aris Lad nearly all abandoned ttieir shops that 
they might bid the Emperor adieu. The carriages passed 
along the Eue de Eivoli, the Rue Saint Antoine, to the 
Place de la Bastille. The sidewalks, the windows, the roofs 
of the houses, were crowded with spectators ; and the greet- 
ing with which the Emperor everywhere was met was 
enthusiastic in the highest degree. The streets were hung 
with flags and garlanded with flowers. Everywhere shouts 
arose of ' Vive I'Bmpereur !' 'Yictoire!' 'Dieu vous garde !' 
The Empress sat with one hand fondly clasped in the hand 
of the Emperor; she could not conceal the tears which 
flooded her eyes. The people could freely approach their 
Sovereign ; and, as the carriage passed slowly along, many 
came up, and affectionately addressed their Majesties. 

" When they arrived at the Place de la Bastille, the crowd 
was found to be immense. The workmen, in their enthusi- 
asm, endeavored to remove the horses, that they might 
triumphantly drag the carriage themselves. The Emperor, 
with manifest emotion, addressed them, saying : 

'■' ' My friends, do not delay me. Time is precious.' 
"They immediately desisted, but with deafening shouts of 
'Vive I'Empereurl' The carriage was now entirely sur- 
rounded by the multitude. The pathetic and ludicrous were 
blended in the remarks which were addressed to their Majes- 
ties. One said, ' Do not forget us if you want any more 
soldiers.' Another exclaimed, ' Sire, you have victory in 
your eyes.' A woman, noticing the tears which freely coursed 
down the cheeks of the Empress, with true womanly sympa- 
thy, said, ' Don't cry, he will soon come back again ;' while 
a sturdy man, leaning his head into the carriage, said, ' Don't 
cry, don't cry ! We will take care of you and the boy.' "* 

* Abbott's Life of Napoleon III. 



432 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

During the absence of the Emperor, in Italy, the Empress 
acted as.Eegent of the Empire. In delegating his powers to 
her, the Emperor gave to the world the highest proof of his 
confidence in her wisdom and judgment. 



III. 

THE PEINCE IMPEEIAL. 

Three years after the marriage of the Imperial pair, their 
happiness and the hopes of the nation were crowned by the 
birth of a son. For several days previous to the auspicious 
event indications were not wanting to the Parisians that it 
was near at hand. " Finally it could be no longer mistaken. 
The hurried movements about the palace; the hushed and 
stealthy manner of the guards and attendants at the doors ; 
the galloping of dragoons through the streets, all gave token 
that something of more than ordinary importance was trans- 
piring. Throughout the city the suppressed tone of business, 
and the earnest, heartfelt anxiety manifested by every one, 
told eloquently how the kindness and womanly virtues of 
the Empress had won for her the hearts of the people. The 
trial of the Empress was more than usually severe, and there 
was need for all the sympathy that was bestowed upon her. 
Those who saw the Emperor upon this occasion bear witness to 
the complete change that seemed to come over him. The calm, 
grave face, ordinarily so impervious a mask to the secrets of 
the master mind of Europe, was now softened and full of 
tenderness, revealing in every feature the keen anxiety he 
felt for her who was so dear to him. He placed in his wife's 
hands a reliquaire, which was the gift of Hortcnse, and 
begged her to remember that the prayers and hopes of the 
whole nation were with her in that time of trial. The 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT, 433 

mother of the Empress, overcome with grief and anxiety, 
pleaded hard with the physicians to alleviate, by what means 
they could, her daughter's sufferings. At length, when the 
city was plunged in slumber, and the members of the court 
were almost overcome with fatigue, the heroic courage of 
the Empress was rewarded, and the 'son of France' was 
born — the Princes Napoleon and Murat being the selected 
witnesses of the happy event." 

The guns of the Invalides announced the news to the 
sleeping citizens. As the heavy discharges thundered 
through the silent streets, rousing the people from their 
slumbers, they were counted eagerly. One hundred guns — 
the signal of the birth of a Princess — were fired, and the ex- 
citement became intense. One hundred and one proclaimed 
to the delighted city that its dearest hopes were realized, and 
that the Empress had given birth to a boy. 

The young Prince was born on the 16th of March, 1856, 
and on the l-lth of June, was baptized, with great pomp, by 
Cardinal Patrizzi, who had been sent to Paris by the Pope 
for that especial purpose. He received the name of Napo- 
leon, Louis, Eugdne, Jean, Joseph. 

Great rejoicings were held in Paris and throughout 
France, at the birth of the little Prince. The theatres were 
thrown open, and illuminations and fireworks crowned the 
night of the 14th. The Emperor signalized the occasion by 
many acts of clemency and generosity. M. Dubois, the 
physician who had attended the Empress during her confine- 
ment, received a fee of forty thousand francs, and his assist- 
ants were handsomely rewarded ; the emplo3='ees of the palace 
had their salaries doubled ; the dragoons on guard were 
served with extra rations of wine from the Imperial cellars ; 
and every boy and girl born on the happy day became the 
godchildren of the Imperial pair. Lastly the Emperor 
granted a general amnesty to all political offenders banished 
2)j 



4o4 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

from France, who would return and take the oath of alle- 
giance to him. 

Naturally the Prince Imperial has been the object of the 
tenderest and most anxious care on the part of his parents. 
The Emperor has striven to rear him in such a manner as 
to fit him for the high station he will one day be called to 
fill. He has the best of tutors, and every care is taken to 
develop to the highest degree whatever native talent he 
may possess, and it is said that he is unusually bright and 
intelligent. In person he resembles his mother, having 
really but little of the Bonaparte about his features. A 
letter written a couple of years ago on the eleventh birthday 
of the little fellow, speaks of him as follows : 

" Louis Napoleon, Jr., was, last Saturday, the 16th instant, 
just eleven years an inhabitant of this earth. Indisposition 
from a surgical operation, necessitated by a fall while exer- 
cising, prevented the usual rejoicings. The theatres and 
other public buildings, however, were brilliantly illumina- 
ted. The Emperor, with his usual generosity, dispensed 
large sums for charitable purposes, and many prisoners re- 
ceived their discharge, and others had their punishments 
commuted. No monarch, probably, now lives, or ever has 
lived, who has received so practical an education in political 
and social life, and who appreciates more thoroughly the 
value of such, than the one who occupies the throne of 
France. 'Tis natural, therefore, that he should not only wish 
his son to receive a similar tuition, but that he should un- 
derstand how to govern himself. 

" Monsieur Bachon, who is j^'^'''^' excellence^ the instructor in 
horsemanship, was a short time since giving young Imperial 
his lesson. Not satisfied with the unhandsome manner with 
which his little pupil seated himself, he requested him to 
change. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 435 

" ' Monseigneur, I pray you, ride properly, or I shall cause 
yoLi to dismount.' 

" The child not heeding the request, Monsieur Bachon 
gently slid him to the sawdust, where he stretched himself at 
full length, regardless of the entreaties to get up. 

'' ' Monseigneur, I ask you as a favor, to arise, or I shall be 
compelled to walk the horse over your Majesty.' 

" He soon remounted, and continued his lesson with perfect 
obedience. The Emperor now entering, the little fellow runs 
and exclaims : 

" ' Papa, Bachon made me ' 

" 'How, Bachon?' 

" ' Yes, papa, Bachon ' 

" ' Say Monsieur Bachon.' 

" Whereupon the infant equestrian remained silent, when 
his father informed him that the teacher not only did right, 
but had obeyed his express orders. The next day the Prince 
being with his teacher, checked his horse a moment, and 
with a sweet smile : 

"'Monsieur Bachon, will you permit me, just for short- 
ness, to call you Bachon, when we are alone ? ' 

" ' No, Monseigneur ; your father has forbid me.' 

"'But when we are alone and nobody can hear, it will 
make me so much pleasure.' 

" ' Yery well,' said Monsieur B, ; ' but when we are tout 
seule.'' 

"Your lady readers may wish to know what kind of a lad 
this is. His hair is nearly black, and brushed from his fore- 
head ; eyes of medium size, and blue; nose well formed, and 
a chin just prominent enough to support as prett}'- a mouth 
and pair of lips as any lady may wish to kiss. His face is 
oval, somewhat resembling his mother's, and when talking, 
the entire expression is exceedingly sweet. I happened at 
' Clereman's ' little boudoir — the successor of ' Houdin ' the 



436 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

prestidigitateur — when the Prince entered with his tutor. 
Being but within a few feet of him, I was quite interested in 
his perfectly childlike manners. He appeared to understand 
how all the tricks were done, and remained until the close of 
the performances." 

His little highness is said to be unusually precocious. 
Several stories are related of this feature of his character. 
I was told that the Emperor, after dinner one day, proposed 
the health of the new president of the Imperial commission 
for the Great Exhibition of 1867, and asked the Prince Im- 
perial to reply. The child said he had been taken by sur- 
prise, and had not been prepared for his father's toast. The 
Emperor said he must at least return thanks. " "Well," said 
the prince, " all I have got to say is, that I regret being too 
young to be of any service to French industry." 

Another writer gives the following account of some of the 
recreations of the Prince and his parents at St. Cloud : 

" The Empress and her ladies love to spend Avhole after- 
noons at the extremity of the Orange rie, in a reserved garden 
called by Marie Antoinette ' Felicite,' the name it still goes 
by. It is between the chateau- and two waterfalls on the 
western side. Here the trees form porticoes all round, and 
here it is the Imperial Prince takes his gymnastic lessons. 
In one corner of this garden is an arbor, under which are 
two plain chairs and a rustic table. This accommodation is 
for the Emperor and Empress, when they are invited by their 
son to come and see him perform the duties of train master, 
stoker, engineer, guard, and signal bearer in one. He has a 
perfected engine, rails, a set of first and second-class cars, 
and every appliance used for steam locomotion. He has 
learned the management of a railway train on this mechani- 
cal master-piece, and sometimes distresses the public by 
upsetting the whole affair down a rapid bank, when the pas- 
sengers, figured by large effigies, get turned out, run over, 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 437 

smashed, and a terrible excitement ensues. It amuses the 
Emperor exceedingly to puzzle the boy with questions about 
tariffs, distances, weight of luggage, etc. It is not the first 
time a prince has been a mechanic at St. Cloud. The Duke 
of Chartres, in the year 1784, here went up in a balloon of 
his contrivance, and, alas ! got so alarmed when he felt him- 
self going up, up, up, without the power of getting down, 
down, down, that he burst his invention with a penknife, and 
fell with extraordinary rapidity in a pond of filthy mud. 
His appearance and that of his attire can be fancied when 
people ran to his rescue." 

The little Prince has not led a life of perfect happiness. 
His health has always been delicate, and he has passed much 
of his childhood in positive pain and suffering. For a long 
time it was not believed possible that he could live, but 
lately his health appears to have improved. 

"Some years since the Imperial Prince was seriously ill. 
Medical men differed upon the nature of his disease. The 
majority of them were of opinion there was an inflammation 
of the thigh bone at the hip-joint. Dr. Nelaton was sum- 
moned in consultation. He made a diagnosis, and deduced 
from it that there was an abscess in the thigh near the hip- 
joint. He was alone in his opinion. His arguments failed 
to convince the other medical men. The decision of the 
proper course to adopt involved great responsibility. Were 
there no abscess, and merely inflammation of the hip-joint, 
the knife would aggravate the inflammation, and superinduce 
erysipelas, or caries, or gangrene. On the other hand, Avere 
no operation made, the same results would be superinduced 
by the absorption of the virus from the abscess. Dr. iSTclaton 
was positively of his opinion; the Emperor said to him: 'Do 
you assume all the responsibility of the operation ?' ' Un- 
questionably, sire.' ' Then perform the operation.' Chloro- 
form was given to the Imperial Prince. As soon as insensi- 



438 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

bility was complete Dr. Nelaton began his incisions. He 
was not the man to require the apostrophe Napoleon ad- 
dressed to Dr. Dubois when the delivery of Marie Louise 
drew near : ' Doctor, be as cool as if your patient was the 
wife of a tradesman in the Eue St. Denis.' Dr. Nelaton 
handled his knife as calmly, quietly, deliberately as if he 
stood in the amphitheatre of the Hospital de la Charite. The 
Emperor, pale, anxious, turned with knitted brows to the 
window, and drummed on its panes with his nervous, restless 
fingers. As Dr. Nelaton's knife drew near the thigh joint, 
one of the surgeons present, exclaimed : ' Ah ! you see there 
is no abscess !' The Emperor turned suddenly around, and 
involuntarily laid his hand on Dr. Nekton's arm, as if to en- 
treat him to mangle wantonly his son no more. Dr. Nelaton 
gently put aside the Emperor's hand, and without losing in 
the least degree his calmness, said, ' I beg pardon, sire, there 
is an abscess.' As he spoke, he thrust, with a sure, steady 
hand, his knife deep into the thigh, and as he withdrew it, 
the pus flowed out, and the Prince Imperial' was saved." 

The Prince is said to have borne his sufferings with great 
firmness, and to have exhibited presence of mind and self- 
control unusual in one so young. His chief object seems to 
have been to spare his parents the pain which the sight of 
his sufferings would cause. He is much with his father, and 
is treated by him more like a companion than a child. His 
principal playmate is the son of Dr. Conneau, the most inti- 
mate friend of the Emperor. He is' very popular with his 
little companions, and is exceedingly kind to them. 

During the residence of the Court at the Taileries, you 
may see the little fellow frequently at play in the private 
garden, or you may see him riding with his parents, upon 
fine afternoons. The Imperial family mingle freely with the 
people, and opportunities for seeing them under very favor- 
able circumstances are numerous. 



XIYI. 

OLD EELICS. 

I. 

HISTOEICAL MANSIONS. 

In spite of the changes which have been wrought in Paris 
under the present Empire, it still contains many edifices and 
other relics of the " olden time," which are dear to the heart 
of the antiquarian, and form one of the most interesting 
features of the city. Many of these are very beautiful, and 
are worthy of being visited as specimens of the architecture 
of their day, and nearly all are rich in historical associations. 

The Il6tel de Sens^ in the Eue du Figuier, is perhaps the 
most interesting of all these. It originally formed a part of 
the royal residence of the Hotel de Saint Pol, and dates from 
the Fourteenth Century. Charles V, gave it to the Arch- 
bishops of Sens, for a town residence, and since then it has 
been called by their name. It has been altered and restored 
frequently, but remains now very much as it was left by the 
Archbishop Tristan de Salazar, in 1519. Since then, its 
most noted occupants have been the Cardinal Duprat, 
Cardinal Lorraine, Marguerite of Valois, and Cardinal 
Duperon. In spite of the mutilations and restorations to 
which it has been subjected, however, it still remains one 
of the finest specimens of the architecture of the last part 
of the Middle Ages of which Paris can boast. It forma a 
curious and majestic old pile, with its immense wall, its 

439 



440 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



ogival gates, its turrets, its stone cross windows, its vaulted 
porch, its immense halls, and, above all the great square 
donjon which rises at the bottom of the court. 

Besides this old mansion are a number of others. The 
Sdtel de Bethune^ in the Eue Saint Antoine, was built for the 
Duke of Sully, the great Minister of Henry lY., the EOiel 




HQtel de Sens. 



Carnavalet, in the Eue Culture-Sainte-Catharine, was the 
residence of the Marchioness de Scvigne and her daughter, 
and contains many souvenirs of the authoress. The City 
of Paris has recently purchased the house for the purpose of 
converting it into a Municipal Museum. The Hotel Lamoig- 
non in the Eue Pavee, au Marais was begun in 1550 for 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



441 



Diana of France, and completed bj Charles de Yalois, Duke 
of Angouleme. TheHuteld'Ormessori, in tlieKue St. Antoine, 
was built for the Duke de Mayenne. In the Eue des Tour- 
nelles, is the Jlotel de Ninon de Lendos^ which still remains 
as that famous beauty left it. 

There is a curious edifice standing on the Cours de la 
Reine, ( Champs Elysies) at the corner of the Rue Bayard. It 
was built at Moret, near Fontainebleau, in 1523, by Francis 




Pompoien Villa. 



I., for his mistress, and was removed stone by stone, and re- 
built on its present site some years ago. It is quadrangular 
in shape and is covered with sculptures by Jean Goujon. 
It is a beautiful specimen of the best style of the Renaissance. 
The house of Pierre Corneille, is still preserved in the Rue 
d'Argenteuil. It may be recognized by a bust of the poet 
at the bottom of the court. In the second story is the alcove 
chamber in which he breathed his last. 



442 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Bacine's house stands in the Eue Yisconti, The poet lived 
here forty years, and died in this house in 1699. 

Several houses in which Voltaire resided are preserved. 
The first is at the corner of the streets Du Clos-Georgeau 
and de la Fontaine Moliere ; the second on the Quai Vol- 
taire ; and the third in the Eue Sainte Anne. Voltaire died 
in the second house mentioned. 

The fifth story of the house No. 6, Quai Conti, was occu- 
pied by Napoleon I., then poor and unknown, in 1785. 

A house on the Quai Napoleon bears an inscription stating 
that one which formerly stood here was occupied by Abelard 
and Heloise, about 1118, and that the present building 
replaces the ancient dwelling of the Canon Fulbert. 

Although not one of the old relics, I may mention here 
one of the most curious specimens of architecture to be found 
in the city, the Pompeien Villa, built by M. Normand for 
Prince Napoleon, and sold by the Prince to other parties, 
after he had become tired of his costly toy. It stands in the 
Avenue Montaigne, and is built on the model of the houses 
discovered at Pompeii. It is richly ornamented, and while 
strictly in keeping with the classic style, is provided with 
everything which adds to the comfort of modern life. The 
grounds are prettily laid out. 



II. 

SAINT JACQUES LA BOUCHERIE 

On the south side of the Rue de Rivoli, between the Eue 
Saint Martin and the Boulevard de Sebastopol, is a pretty 
square, ornamented with grass plots, shrubbery, and foun- 
tains. In the centre rises a handsome but singular tower, 
richly ornamented with statues and sculptures. It is the 
bell tower of the old church of Saint Jacques la Boucherie. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 443 

whicli was pulled down in 1797. The cliurch was a very- 
curious example of every style from the Thirteenth to the 
Sixteenth Centuries. Some of the tombs and other parts of 
it are now to be seen in the garden of the Sdtel de Gluny. 
The tower was begun in 1508, and was finished in 1522, and 
is one of the most beautiful specimens of its style. For 
many years, however, it was surrounded with tall houses, 
so that the top was the only part of it that could be seen, 
and even that was rapidly decaying. For many years after 
the destruction of the church, the lower part of the tower 
was used as a leather store, and the upper part as a shot 
tower. In 1836 the city authorities purchased it for the 
sum of two hundred and fifty thousand francs, and commenced 
to restore it. The present Emperor swept away the houses 
by which it was surrounded, and laid off the pretty square 
in the centre of which it now stands. You would hardly 
believe, as you look at the beautiful open space, that it 
marks the site of what was once one of the densest and 
filthiest quarters of Paris. The tower has been restored at a 
cost of one million francs, and is now the most beautiful 
monument of the Middle Ages standing in the city. 

The distance from the ground to the platform is one 
hundred and seventy-one feet. A winding stairway leads to 
the summit. It is a terribly tedious journey, but the view 
of the city from the top amply repays you for your trouble. 
The summit is ornamented with a colossal statue of Saint 
James the Greater, and figures of the symbolical animals of 
the Evangelists — the eagle, the lion, and the ox. They are 
copies of those which formerly stood here. Nineteen other 
statues adorn the edifice. 

■ Pascal once used the tower for his experiments on atmos- 
pheric pressure, and his statue adorns the large chamber at 
the foot of the stairway. 

Looking down from the high platform, the old streets of 



444 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT, 

the city present a most curious and interesting appearance. 
You see them winding, narrow and crooked, through the 
yellowish mass of houses, like immense fissures in a bed of 
clay. Close by are the broad and magnificent Boulevards 
and Avenues — the very perfection of elegance and comfort. 
You have both Old and New Paris at your feet, and looking 
down from your lofty elevation, can contrast them at your 
leisure. The difference is wonderful, and greatly in favor 
of the city of to-day. 



III. 
THE HOTEL HE CLUNY. 

Pass up the Boulevard Sebastopol, going southward 
from the Pont Saint Michel^ and a few minutes will bring 
you opposite the gardens of an ancient edifice on the east 
side of the great street. This is the Hotel de Cluny, one of 
the most thoroughly interesting mansions in this city of 
wonders. The ruins that lie between it and the street are 
the remains of the old Eoman Palais des Thermes. 

The Emperor Constantius Ohlorus built a palace here 
about the year 300, and it was upon this spot Julian the 
Apostate was proclaimed Emperor of Eome. The old 
palace passed at length into the hands of the Prankish Kings, 
and about the year 1180 became one of the principal royal 
residences. In 1340 it was given to the Great Benedictine 
Abbey of Cluny, which owned a large amount of property 
in Paris, but had no town house there. The Abbot Jehau, 
bastard of Bourbon, began the present Hotel de Cluny, but 
did not live to the close of the work. He died in 1485, and 
die house was finished by Jacques dAmboise, about the 
year 1515. It was noted as the most beautiful mansion in 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



445 



the city, and, indeed, is to-day a model of the Semi-Gothic 
Renaissance style. 

Although they had taken such pains in building the 
house, the Abbots of Cluny seemed to care but little for it, 
and rarely made it their place of residence. For the most 
part it was occupied by the Royal family, or by some of the 
great Princes of the land. The widow of Louis XII., 




Hotel de Cluny. 

(Mary, daughter of Henry VII. of England) resided here. 
From the custom of the French queens to wear white 
mourning, she was called La Reine Blanche. Her chamber 
is still shown in the building. Francis I. also spent much 
of his time here ; and it was here that his daughter, Mag- 
dalene, was married to James Y. of Scotland. After this, 
the Cardinal de Lorraine, the Duke of Guise, and the Duke 
d'Aumale dwelt here. A troop of actors installed them- 
selves in the mansion in 1579, and remained in it until 1584, 
when they were expelled by order of the Parliament. 



446 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

About the period of the Ee volution it became private 
property, and was occupied by its successive owners until 
1833, when it was purchased by M. du Sommerard, an emi- 
nent antiquarian, who converted it into a Museum of the 
Middle Ages. . He was very generous in showing it to tlie 
public, and at his death the State bought the mansion and 
the collections for five hundred thousand francs. At the 
same time, the city authorities ceded to the crown the 
Palais des Thermes, which stood next to the Hotel de 
Cluny. Louis Philippe undertook the task of restoring it, 
and made great progress with the work during his reign. 
The restoration was completed by the present G-overnment, 
and the edifice presents a rare specimen, both externally 
and internally, of a mansion of the Sixteenth Century. The 
building of to-day, however, preserves very few of its in- 
terior decorations. The chapel is the best preserved, re- 
maining entirely as it was originally built. 

" The battlements on the wall facing the Eue des Mathu- 
rins have been restored, and the staff and scallop-shell, the 
badges of Jacques d'Amboise, have been replaced. The 
body of the building, which faces the visitor on entering, 
is supposed to be the oldest part, and is almost Gothic in 
design, and richly ornamented. The double frieze and the 
balustrade above the first floor, with their grotesque carv- 
ings, and the magnificent dormer-windows, deserve partic- 
ular attention, and the chimnies are the finest of that date in 
Paris. The wing on the left is much more richly orna- 
mented. On the outer wall is a circle cut in the stone, said 
to represent the circumference of the great bell of Eouen." 

The entrance is from the Eue des Mathurins, by two 
doors, one large and the other small, in the battlemented 
wall. Here you must produce either your passport or a 
stamped card in order to obtain admission. Crossing the 
court-yard, you enter a large hall, slightly raised from the 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



447 



ground, and constituting the first room of the Museum. You 
may purchase a catalogue of the articles from the gate- 
keeper for two francs, and you will be wise not to attempt 
to see the collections without one. The Museum contains 
three thousand seven hundred and seventy objects, each of 
which is ticketed and numbered. The catalogue is very 
well arranged, and by its aid you can spend several agree- 
able and profitable hours here. 




Interior of the Hotel de Cluny. 

You will find these old rooms themselves decidedly one of 
the most instructive portions of the Museum. They show 
you, simply and eloquently, the way in which the " old time 
folks " kept house. Some of the apartments are dreary and 
cheerless enough, but the others must have been marvellously 
comfortable when the big logs sexu the bright flames roaring 
up the huge chimnies. Stately roonic they are, too, and 



448 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

worthy, still, to be tenanted by royalty. The woodwork is 
exquisite, and the chimney-pieces are marvels of carving. 

Here is gathered the richest collection in existence, of 
objects relating to the early history of France. Here are 
sculptures, reliefs, altars, and carvings from the old churches 
and palaces ; paintings so old and faded that many of them 
are almost indistinct ; beautiful oratories, reading-desks, rose- 
windows ; manuscripts, the crowns of the Gothic kings, and 
the croziers of Saints. Here are weapons and armor of 
the ancient Gauls, and articles of domestic use of that age. 
Here are banners and pennons that flapped in the hot winds 
of the Holy Land, and swords and lances that laid many an 
Infidel low. The collection of ancient armor is particularly 
rich and interesting. You will find specimens of every de- 
scription here, from the rude weapons of the Gauls down to 
the complete adoption of gunpowder. The religious relics 
are numerous and very interesting. The tapestries and 
hangings on which the dames of old toiled so patiently, are 
in an excellent state of preservation, and are very numerous. 
Some of the ecclesiastical robes are gorgeous. There are 
numerous specimens of the household furniture of the Mid- 
dle Ages, almost all beautifully carved, but clumsy and 
uncomfortable for use. The great saloon contains the "entire 
collection of ebonies, images, crystals, little figures, Italian, 
Flemish, and French ivory, mosaics in hard stone, birds, 
landscapes, cornelians, inlaid work, shells, miniatures, cabi- 
nets, china, bass-reliefs, jugs, coffers that are named in Bran- 
tome, plate, low cupboards, all the apparatus of good living, 
vases as brilliant as gold, cups, basins, glasses, the massive 
Flemish side-board, everything clever or ingenious that has 
ever been produced by the manufacturers of Faenza, of 
Montpellier, of Limoges, of Flanders, and of France, in a 
word, the finest works of Bernard Palissy, and his pupils." 

In the beautiful Chamber of the White Queen are several 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 449 

old paintings, some of them 'dating from the year 759. 
Adjoining this room is the chamber of Francis I. " The 
door of this chamber of Francis I.," says Jules Janin, "had 
been the door of the Chateau d'Anet, a discreet door, with 
a sill of ivory and gold, which remembers Diana of Poictiers 
and Henry II. The chess board had belonged to Saint Louis. 
A city of France had offered this rare treasu. e to Louis 
XYIIL; but Louis XYIIL, who cared for nothing but his 
throne and his repose, gave the chess board of the pious 
king to a, man in his household, and this man sold it to M. 
du Somnierard. The bed in this room of Francis I., was, in 
fact, that of the Knight King. The frieze pannel was painted 
by Primaticcio, the Christ is by Albert Durer ; here are the 
stirrups and the spurs of the King of France ; here is the 
complete armor, the buckler, the helmet, the armed vizor, 
the Spanish dagger, the good lance of Toledo, as the modern 
drama has since called it, the haulmes, the arquebuses, the 
gauntlets, the knee caps — all the apparatus of the soldi ^,r and 
the Knight." 

From the Chamber of the White Queen, you enter the 
Chapel, a beautiful work. A pillar in the centre supports 
the groined ceiling, and the twelve niches which surround 
the room were once filled with statues of the Amboise family. 
The Chapel at present contains a number of relics from the 
old churches of France. A winding stairway leads down to 
an undercroft, the same in size and design as the chapel 
above, which contains several old statues. A door on the 
left leads into the garden, across which is the old palace of 
the Roman Emperors. 

The Palais des Thermes, the history of which has been 

already sketched, adjoins the Hotel de Cluny. It is one of 

the most complete Eoman relics in France, but represents 

only a portion of the original palace. "The principal part 

of the ruins are supposed to have formed a part of the baths 
29 



450 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

erected by the Emperor Constantius Ohlorus, The first, 
the largest hall, the -frigidarium, or cold bath, is a well pro- 
portioned and lofty hall of brick, which, though bare and 
stripped of its stonework and ornaments, still strikes the 
visitor with admiration. It is sixty-six feet long, thirty- 
eight feet wide, and fifty-nine feet high ; on one side, but at a 
lower level, is the oblong cold bath. The remains of the 
leaden pipes, etc., may still be seen ; the water was brought 
from beyond Arcueil, four miles off, traces having been dis- 
covered throughout of the acqueduct! In this hall have 
been placed some specimens of Eoman sculptures ; amongst 
others, two altars, of the time of Tiberius, dedicated to 
Jupiter, found in 1711 under the choir of Notre Dame. 
Beneath are vaults and reservoirs closed to the public. 
Besides this hall, vast masses of brickwork belonging to the 
vestibule, tepidarium, etc., may be seen, all in ruins, and 
formerly buried in modern houses. In the garden are a 
portion of a Eoman road, formed of polygonal blocks of 
Fontainebleau, sandstone, several fragments of Gothic archi- 
tecture, three Norman arches, which formed a part of a 
church of the Benedictines at Argenteuil, an iron cross from 
the summit of the church of Saint Vladimir at Sebastopol, 
and the Gothic fagade of the College of Bayeux, which stood 
in this quarter of Paris. 







CiilliLHlral of Notre Dame. Front View. 



IIYII. 

NOTRE DAME DE PARIS. 

I. 

HISTOEICAL. 

According to the old tradition, the site of the Metros . A'l 
tun Church of Paris was first marlced by a Roman temple to 
Jupiter, at which the ancient sailors navigating the Seine, 
were w"ont to say their prayers and offer their gifts. In the 
year 365 a Christian church was built where the pagan 
temple had formerly stood. About two centuries later, 
Childeric I., son of Clovis, yielding to the entreaties of Saint 
Germain, commenced about the year 565 the erection of a 
new cathedral immediately adjoining the old one, which was 
known as the Church of Sainte Marie^ or Notre Dame. 
Childeric dedicated his church to Saint Stephen, the first 
Christian Martyr, and for a long time it was termed, 
in conjunction with the other, "the Cathedral." In 584, 
after the assassination of Childeric, Fredegonda fled with her 
treasures to the liigh altar of Notre Dame, and there found 
an inviolable sanctuary. The councils held at Paris under 
the early reigns, met sometimes at Notre Dame, and some- 
times at Saint Peter's, which occupied the site of the present 
church of Sainte-Genevieve. 

The two churches of Saint Mary and Saint Stephen were 
almost in ruins at the commencement of the Tenth Century. 
That of Saint ^ary, being the principal seat of the Arch- 

453 



454 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

bishop of Paris, naturally received the chief care. Charles 
the Simple granted Bishop Anscheric the means of partially 
restoring it in 907, and other restorations were made by the 
Archdeacon Stephen de Garlande, in 1123. 

In spite of these improvements, however, the church was 
in need of greater repairs, and was too small for the necessi- 
ties of the city. In 1160, Maurice de Sully, who had risen 
from a low origin to a very high rank in the church, signal- 
ized his accession to the Archiepiscopate of Paris, by volun- 
teering to replace the old church with a larger and grander 
edifice. He also determined to unite the church of Saint 
Stephen with that of Notre Dame, and thus form one im- 
mense Cathedral. Accordingly the work of clearing away 
the old churches was begun, and the first stone of the new 
edifice was laid in 1163, by Pope Alexander the Third, then 
a fugitive at the Court of Louis le Jeune. The structure 
went up rapidly, and the high altar was consecrated on the 
Wednesday after Easter, in 1182, by Cardinal Henri, the 
Pope's Legate, and Archbishop Maurice de Sully. Three 
years later, in 1185, lieraclius, the Patriarch of Jerusalem, 
preached the third crusade in the choir of the church. The 
choir was finished in 1196, and the nave about 1223. In 
1218, the old Church of Saint Stephen was pulled down to 
make way for the south transept. The magnificent south 
portal is the work of Maitre Jehan de Chelles, who must 
have been a genius in his art. The north transept dates 
from 1250. The rest of the building appears to have been 
finished about the year 1350, and to have remained unaltered 
until 1700, when a series of wretched mutilations,* designed 
as improvements, was begun. During the present reign very 
successful efforts have been made to repair these barbarisms, 

* The reader is referred to Victor Hugo's great romance of Notre 
Dame de Paris, for a minute and interesting account of these mutila- 
tions. • 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 455 

and restore the old pile, as near as possible, to its original 
state. The building has several times suffered from the 
violence of mobs, and during the Eevolution was greatly 
damaged by them. 

The Cathedral has played a prominent part in the history 
of the city. Being the Metropolitan church, it takes pre- 
cedence of all others. It was in this church that Saint 
Dominic preached his powerful sermons, and, according to 
the old legend, was blessed with a miraculous vision of the 
Virgin. Here Eaymond of Toulouse abjured his heresy, 
presenting himself before the high altar, clad only in a 
coarse shirt; here Henry VI. of England was crowned 
King of France in 1431 ; and here, in 1436, was chanted 
the Te Bcum of gratitude for the recapture of Paris by the 
army of Charles VII. How many marriages, funereal rites, 
pomps and ceremonies the old pile has witnessed during its 
six hundred years! Though often sacked and desecrated, it 
is still grand and beautiful, the noblest of all the Gothic 
monuments of France. Here the haughty priests kept a 
king waiting in the streets until it should be their pleasure 
to accept his humble apology and admit him. Here they 
said the prayers of the Church over the Sans-Culottes who 
died in breaking down the Bastille ; and here was formed, 
in 1793, the infamous " Temple of Eeason." On the 10th 
of November, of that year, a woman, the wife of one Mo- 
moro, was seated on the high altar and worshipped as the 
" Goddess of Eeason." She rewarded each of her worship- 
pers with a fraternal kiss. " There is one thing," says 
Carlyle, " we should like almost better to understand than 
any other: what Eeason herself thought of it all the while. 
What articulate words poor Mrs. Momoro, for example, ut- 
tered, when she had become ungoddessed again, and the 
bibliopolist and she sat quiet at home, at supper ? * * * 
Mrs. Momoro, it is admitted, made one of the best god- 



456 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

desses of Eeason, tliougli her teeth were a little defective." 
In 1802, the sacrilege was in part atoned for, and the old 
church, with all others in France, was restored to religion. 
Here the Pope placed the Imperial Crown upon the brows 
of Napoleon, and here the present Emperor was married in 
1853. 



II. 

DESCRIPTIVE. 

As you approach the Cathedral through the Purvis Notre 
Dame^ you come suddenly upon the full blaze of the glories 
of the western front. Sit down on the worn steps of the old 
Hdtel Dieu^ and examine the work at your leisure. Before 
you is the massive front, pierced with three immense doors, 
the arches of which are covered with the most elaborate sculp- 
tures. The sculptures of the central portal represent the 
Last Judgment, and those of the two lateral ones scenes in 
the life of the Virgin. The side niches are filled with saints, 
prophets, and angels in stone ; and in the twenty-eight 
arches above the doors are the same number of Kings 
of France, from Childeric I. down to Philip Augustus. A 
fine gallery rests on these arches, on a level with the vast 
rose window, which is flanked on each side by an immense 
double archway, supporting a smaller rose window. Above 
the windows rises a light gallery running across the entire 
front of the church, and supported by Gothic columns of the 
most delicate construction. A square tower, pierced with a 
double arched window, is on each side. These towers are 
forty feet wide on each front, and are two hundred and 
twenty-four feet high from the ground to the summit. In 
the centre of the lower gallery, and just in front of the rose 
window, is a group representing the Virgin and two angels. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 457 

To the right of this group is a statue of Adam ; and to the 
left, one of Eve. The whole front is covered with sculp- 
tures. You may examine it for hours, and every moment 
will show you something new and beautiful; but it is not 
so much the multiplicity and excellence of the sculpture 
that impress you as the gi-andeur and venerableness of the 
entire facade. It is true that every detail merits a separate 
study, but it is only by taking in the entire front at one 
ghince that you can realize the wonderful beauty of tlie 
whole. I could never bear to look at it in the full blaze of 
the sunlight; but when twilight was gathering thick over 
the city, or the evening was dark and gloomy, I have wan- 
dered into the great square and sat for hours on the steps 
of the old hospital, gazing at this marvellous poem in stone, 
which seemed to me more beautiful than ever in this half- 
light. 

In the Twelfth Century, thirteen steps led from the square 
to the grand entrance, which is now on a level with the 
street. " Time did away with the steps," says Victor Hugo, 
" by elevating with slow, resistless progress the level of the 
city ground; but, while swallowing one after another Avith 
its maw of earth, the eleven steps that added to the loftiness 
of the erection, time has rendered to it perhaps more than 
it has taken away, for it is time that has tinged the fa9ade 
with that dark, aged hue that makes the oldness of monu- 
ments their days of beauty." 

Those grand doors, the old legends of the Cathedral tell 
you, are the work of the Devil. The legend asserts that the 
architect, in despair of realizing his conceptions, called on 
the Evil One for assistance. Quick as a flash the Devil 
stood at his elbow, and offered to forge him three doors if 
he would give him his soul as the price of the work. The 
bargain was concluded, and Beelzebub at once applied him- 
self to his task. Two doors were finished in short order: 



•±58 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

but, when Nick came to the third, he found it was to be the 
door through which the Holy Sacrament would pass. This 
perplexed him, and after thinking the matter over, he came 
to the conclusion that his principles would not allow him to 
complete this door, so he gave up the undertaking in despair. 
The bargain having been broken by him, of course, the 
architect was free ; but all Paris marvelled that, while the 
first two doors were miracles of beauty, the third was plain 
and simple. 

Pass around now to the Archbishop's bridge, and enjoy 
the magnificent spectacle which lies before you. Here is 
the whole church in sight at the same moment. To the 
right of the square towers is the south transept with its 
three sharp gable ends, and its glorious rose window, show- 
ing grandly above the pretty Sacristy. From the centre of 
the roof, at the cutting point of the cross aisles, springs a 
slender spire, which replaces the old one destroyed during 
the Eevolution, for its lead. You have an excellent oppor- 
tunity of studying the singular leaden roof, and the graceful 
flying buttresses which surround the octagonal shaped choir. 
On the other side is the north transept, with a rose window 
matching, but not excelling, that of the south transept. 
The large door on this side dales from the year 1312, and 
the little one, called the Porte Rouge (Eed Gate), from 1419, 
and was erected by the Duke of Burgundy, in expiation of 
his crime, the assassination of the Duke of Orleans. 

Passing through the narrow street which bounds the 
church on the north side, you come out into the great square 
again, and pause once more to look up at the stone gargoyles 
of the square towers. How grotesque and diabolical they are ! 
For nearly six long centuries they have been standing there, 
leaning over the dark towers and gazing down upon the city 
below. Griffins, dragons, and figures whose strange, weird 
shapes must have been the invention of a diabolical imagi- 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 459 

nation, look down upon you from these lofty galleries. As 
you watcli them you are startled by the life-like aspect of 
both form and feature. The longer you gaze at them the 
more they seem to be living, and at last you are almost 
ready to believe that the Evil One haunts the towers with 
his hosts. They offer a strange contrast to the beautiful 
sculptures below, which tell so eloquently of eternal hap- 
piness. 

As you pass in through the grand portal a sharp disap- 
pointment meets you. Instead of the grandeur in which 
you have been revelling since you began your inspection of 
the Cathedral, you are brought face to face with a hideous', 
rickety leather door, which closes the entrance. You dash 
it open impatiently, and step from the bright glare of the 
duy into the dim, saintly light of the old church. The 
change is so sudden that you are forced to wait until your 
eyes are accustomed to the gloom. 

The first thing you see is a perfect wilderness of arches, 
and your first feeling is one of disappointment. Unlike 
Westminster Abbey, this old Cathedral does not flash all its 
grandeur upon you at the first sight, and it is only after 
wandering fairly up to the altar rail, and standing where the 
glories of nave, transept, and choir are all in full view, that 
you begin to realize the magnificence of the old pile. 

The church is built in the form of a Latin cross, and is 
three hundred and ninety feet long from east to west. The 
transept is not so long nor so wide. The central aisle is one 
hundred and five feet high from the pavement to the roof. 
On each side of both nave and choir is a double row of 
arches, with side chapels extending into the spaces between 
the buttresses. The pillars support one hundred and twenty 
pointed arches, and above these are immense galleries or 
tribunes, which extend around both nave and choir. Over 
the western entrance is the organ loft, containing a splendid 



460 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

instrument by Cliquot. The choir is divided from the 
nave by an exquisitely worked railing of iron, and the 
various doors of the church are magnificently wrought. The 
choir is paved with marble, and is surrounded with a 
gorgeous wainscoting, in which are placed the stalls of the 
twenty-six ecclesiastical dignitaries connected with the 
church. The high altar is decollated with great richness 
and beaut3^ It stands on a raised platform which is ap- 
proached by a number of steps. It is of pure Languedoc 
marble, and is covered with fine bass-reliefs. It replaces 
the old altar destroyed during the Revolution. Eour 
immense rose windows adorn the east and west ends, and 
the north and south ends of the transepts, and rich stained 
glass windows surround the choir. Many of the chapels are 
likewise provided. The church contains one hundred and 
thirteen colored windows, and thirty-seven chapels. The 
latter are tawdry as a rule, and are real blots upon the beauty 
of the old pile. Your best plan is to stand where you cannot 
see them. The "decorations of the -church are very simple, 
the walls are uncolored, and there is nothing to mar the 
impression which the grandeur of the edifice produces. I 
make no attempt to describe it ; it must be seen, for no lan- 
guage can do it justice. 

At the gate which separates the choir from the south tran- 
sept, sits the " Swiss," or Beadle, in a pompous, showy uni- 
form. You will generally find hira reading a novel. He 
seems to care little for the beauties which surround him, and 
looks up with an abstracted air as you ask for a ticket of 
admission within the railing. Half a franc is the fee, and 
this sum also entitles you to an inspection of the treasures 
contained in the Sacristy. You will, most probably, wander 
around the choir at first, and gaze at the fine paintings and 
sculptures collected in the chapels. There are several fine 
monuments in this part of the church, but the scores which 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 461 

made the holy place so iuterestiug were removed daring the 
leign of Louis XV., when the present handsome marble 
pavement took the place of the old slabs. The chapel of the 
Virgin, back of the high altar, is very pretty, but has nothing 
of tlie grandeur of the main building. 

The Sacrisly lies on the south side of the church, and you 
enter by a door opening into the choir. It was built nearly 
twenty years ago by M. Viollet le Due, and is a beautiful 
specimen of modern Gothic art. The old white-headed 
official in charge is a pattern of good breeding and accommo- 
dation, though he does look rather hard at you as you enter, 
or administers a mild but decided rebuke if you omit to close 
the door. lie is seemingly engrossed in the task of showing 
you the articles in his charge, but you notice all the while 
that he is watching you closely. lie has need to be suspi- 
cious, for Notre Dame has not been fortunate in the posses- 
sion of its treasures. They were stolen in 1793, in the riot 
of 1831, and again in 1860. Upon the last mentioned occasion, 
some of the articles were thrown into the Seine, from which 
they were fished out. Here you will see one of the richest 
collections of jewels in France. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, 
pearls, opals, and gems -of every description. The church 
plate is massive and gorgeous, and is worth a fortune in itself. 
Amongst other articles, is the Ostensoir (or vessel in which 
the Host is placed,) of Saint Louis. It was formerly lodged 
in the Semite Ghaj^elle, but was restored to its original condi- 
tion, and presented to this church by Louis XVIIL, at the 
baptism of the Duke of Bordeaux. Here are the cross worn 
by Saint Vincent-de-Paul, when ministering at the death-bed 
of Louis XIII ; the coronation robes of Napoleon I., and 
other articles used at his consecration ; ecclesiastical robes of 
great beauty and immense value; and a number of articles 
presented to the church by the Great Emperor and Napoleon 
the Third. The most precious of all the treasures, however, 



462 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

are contained in a reliquaire^ perfectly gorgeous with jewels. 
The Sacristan tells you, with deep reverence, that they are 
two thoi-ns from the crown of martyrdom which encircled the 
brows of the Saviour of mankind. Saint Louis brought 
them back with him from Palestine, and built the Sainte 
Oha]pelle to contain them. Here are also a bit of the "true 
cross," one of the nails of the cross, which formerly belonged 
to the Church of Saint Denis ; and the whip with which 
Saint Louis used to scourge his royal flesh. 

Leaving the church by the western door, you pass around to 
the right of the north tower, which is the entrance to the long 
flight of steps, three hundred and eighty in number, leading to 
the platform above. A small fee admits you, and you begin 
your weary journey. The passage is narrow and dark, and the 
steps are worn and slippery, so much so, that you are forced to 
use the stout iron-rail which runs along the side. At length, 
when your patience, as well as your strength, is almost ex- 
hausted, you pass through the trap, and stand on the lofty bal- 
cony over which the stone gargoyles are peering so intently. 
Above you, in the north tower, is the famous peal of bells, 
and in the south tower is the great Bourdon, weighing 32,000 
pounds, and with a clapper which weighs nearly 1,000 
pounds. This bell was cast in 1685, and was baptized, with 
great pomp, having for its sponsors no less high personages 
than Louis XIV. and his Queen. It received the name of 
Emmanuel Louise Th^r^se. The companion to this bell, 
Marie, by name, weighed 25,000 pounds. It hung in the 
north tower, along with a glorious peal of eight bells, but all 
these vocal royalists went down with poor Citizen Capet, and 
were melted into cannon for the defence of the Republic. 
The present peal is said to be more musical. By an ingen- 
ious arrangement, the bells now hanging here may be rung 
without jarring the towers in the least. The big Bourdon is 
silent upon ordinary occasions, but when some great festival 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 463 

or some event of unusual importance occurs, lie sends his 
hoarse notes rolling out of his loftj cage, and they make 
the air tremble in the remotest quarter of the city. " I have 
stood with seven other persons under the big bell, and within 
the rim, and still there seemed to me room for another. 

The leaden roof lies right at your feet now. It is com- 
posed of 1,236 leaden plates, each of which is 9|- feet long, 
and 3 feet wide. The whole roof weighs 420,240 pounds, 
and rests upon an immense frame-work of oak 350 feet long. 
That pretty spire, which springs heavenward from the centre 
of the roof, is not so frail and delicate as it seems. It is built 
throughout of Champagne oak, and is covered with leaden 
plates. Its total weight is 1,500,000 pounds, and its height 
135 feet above the church. 

You are face to face with the old gargoyles now, and you 
are less imaginative than I, if you can entirely resist the 
conviction that after all they might suddenly change from 
stone to life and spirit you away. See this weird being, who 
stands here looking down upon the city, with his long, wild 
hair floating in the wind, and his peaked hat pushed back 
from his forehead. One hand is raised in the attitude of rapt 
listening, and the other rests carelessly upon the balustrade. 
The attitude is wonderful, the features and expression even 
more so. For how many long centuries has the old demon 
been standing here, listening to the sounds that come floating 
up to him from the great city at his feet ! What a tale could 
those cold, gray lips unfold, had they but the power of 
speech ! "Would they tell most of the battles, sieges, and 
riots those weird-like eyes have seen, or of the quieter, but 
more terrible tragedies that have passed below him ? Near 
six centuries of life, love, hate, crime, virtue, and death in 
this wonderful Paris! What an experience! Demon and 
stony-hearted as he is, it is no wonder that his features wear 
that weary, half-shrinking expression. For the life of me, I 



464 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

could not repress the feeling of awe that came over me. I 
laid my hand on the cold arm of the gargoyle. Had ihe 
figure turned and spoken to me, I would not have been 
surprised. Come here at twilight, reader, and stand by the 
figure alone, and be you never so unimaginative, never so-' 
matter of fact, I defy you to stay here ten minutes without 
becoming superstitious. 

All Paris lies at your feet as you look down from the 
towers of Notre Dame. All around you is the old Cite with 
the Hotel Dieu and the Palais de Justice immediately below. 
To the east and west is the Seine, lying like a broad belt of 
silver right across the centre of the great city. North of the 
river are the Boulevards, the Tuileries, and the Louvre, the 
Yendome, and Bastille Columns, the Hotel de Ville, and the 
bright, beautiful streets which have sprung up as if by magic 
in the last eighteen years. Back of all rise the heights of 
Montmartre, with their picturesque windmills standing darkly 
against the sky. To the eastward are P^re la Chaise and the 
Bois de Vincennes, and between them rise the pretty columns 
of the Place du Trone. To the west are the Place de la 
Concorde, and the Champs Blysdes, with the massive Arc de 
Triomphe towering up beyond them, and back of that the 
bright green of the Bois de Boulogne. 

South of the Seine, and almost immediately in front of 
you, is the magnificent Boulevard Sebastopol (Saint Michel) 
and along its line you can see the Luxembourg, the Hotel de 
Cluny, and the Observatory. To the east of the Boulevard 
are the domes of the Pantheon, the Yal de Grace and the 
Sorbonne, and farther east the Halle aux Vins and the 
Jardin des Plantes. West of the Observatory and far to the 
southward is the cemetery of Mont Parnasse, and north of it 
the towers of Saint Sulpice and the old Abbey church of 
Saint Germain des Prds. Still farther to the north and 
along the river are the palaces of the Institute, Quai d'Orsay, 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 465 

and the Legion of Honor, and west of these the esplanade 
and hospital of the luvalides. Still farther west you may 
see the Champs de Mars and the old Military School, and 
beyond that in the far distance the wooded heights of Saint 
Cloud. Around the whole picture thus spread out before 
you, encircling it like a gorgeous frame, is the chain of hills 
which enclose the basin of Paris. With the aid of a good 
glass you may make out the sixteen detached forts which 
keep guard over the Capital of France, 



III. 
A TE DEUM. 

Notre Dame, although so i-ichly worthy of such a dis- 
tinction, has been the scene of but few of the coronations 
of the Monarchs of France, the ceremonies of consecration 
having been performed at Kheims, with the exception of tlie 
crowning of Napoleon I., but it was in this sacred place tliat 
many of the kings and princess of the blood were baptized, 
and it was here that most of their solemn public acts of devo- 
tion were performed, and it is here that the French since the 
completion of the edifice, have always held their high 
national religious festivals, and here has been chanted lor 
ages that wonderful Te Deum in which the nation seeks to 
pour out its gratitude to God for His most signal mercies. 

It so happened that wliile wandering through the cool 
arches one sultry August morning, my eye caught the an- 
nouncement, posted on a neighboring column^ that Monsig- 
neur, the Archbishop of Paris, assisted by the clergy and the 
great dignitaries of the State, would celebrate High Mass, to 
conclude with a grand Te Deum, at one o'clock on the 
following Sunday — which I suddenly remembered was the 
30 



466 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

fifteentli of August, and the Centennial of the birth of Napo- 
leon I. 

At a little before noon on the appointed day, I drove over 
to the Cite, intending to witness the ceremonies at the 
Cathedral. The streets were full of people, and squads of 
mounted men were stationed at frequent intervals to keep 
them clear. Upon reaching the southern end of the Pont 
au Change, I found the crowd so dense that I abandoned my 
carriage and set out on foot to reach the church. The streets 
were gay with troops who lined the approaches to the Cathe- 
dral and kept the crowd back. Detachments of cavalry 
came by every moment at a sharp trot, escorting some high 
dignitary in a state carriage, with outriders. The dresses 
were magnificent, and I knew not which to admire the more, 
the uniforms of the occupants of the carriages or the liveries 
of their servants. I pushed my way through the throng, 
and by a happy instinct directed my course to the entrance 
to the north tower. A couple of francs admitted me, and I 
was not long in mounting to the gallery and securing an 
eligible position from which to view the scene below. 

The church was filling up rapidly. The galleries were 
thronged, and in the lower part all but the reserved seats in 
the nave and transepts was black with people. A regiment 
of Chasseurs was drawn up along the sides of the nave, just 
back of the first row of pillars. The space between the two 
lines of troops, from the door to the altar steps, was hand- 
somely carpeted and provided with benches for the great 
bodies of tlie State, the Corporate Authorities of Paris, the 
Foreign Ambassadors, and such other invited guests as 
should be present. Massive chandeliers, filled with wax lights, 
Imng from the lofty roof, and shed a soft glimmer through 
the old church, which had never seemed to me so beautiful 
as then. At the western doors stood the ushers with their 
gaudy uniforms and staves of office, waiting to receive and 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 467 

escort the " lords and gentlemen " to their seats, Thes(5 
came in in little detachments, but before the hour of service, 
nearl}?- every seat- was taken. All the great officers of the 
State were there, except the Emperor, who was terribly 
ill at Saint Cloud. The Empress could not leave him, and 
the little Prince had been sent to represent his father in tin' 



Interior of Notre uuine. 

Review at Challons. Below me, as I gazed down from my 
lofty perch, were the jMarshals of France with their blaze of 
orders and gold lace, and, better than all, there was the 
shining head and manly face of that born soldier Canrobert. 
There were the Senators in their gaudy robes, the members of 



468 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

the Corps Legislatif in their semi-military garb, the Ministers 
of State, the wise looking Academicians, the pompous 
" City Fathers" of Paris in their queer, " old timey " dresses, 
Judges, Generals, Admirals, Ambassadors, Consuls, and a 
host of lesser lights. The nave and the transepts seemed a 
mass of gold and silver lace enclosed by a wall of gleaming 
steel. Jewels of every hue glittered in the light of the 
chandeliers, and below me hundreds of stars, crosses, and 
collars flashed with a brilliancy that dazzled me, paining my 
poor Eepublican eyes with the blazonry of nearly every 
order in Europe. It was a grand sight — such as I had never 
seen before, and probably will never see again. ' 

A silver}^ bell pealed out the hour of one, and before its 
cadence had died away a burst of wild and triumphant music 
rolled through the grand arches ; and from a side door came 
marching into the choir a long train of ecclesiastics, preced- 
ing the venerable Archbishop. First came two boys swing- 
ing high their golden censors, and just behind them marched 
the cross bearer with the sacred symbol which shone gor- 
geously with its brilliant gems. The train seemed to me 
, interminable. The ecclesiastics as they filed into the choir 
filled every available space around the altar, their magnifi- 
cent dresses harmonizing well with the grandeur of the place 
in which they stood. Last of all came the Archbishop, 
walking with the tread of a king. Wilder and louder grew 
the organ strains until the whole church was full of the 
triumphant melody. Then, when all were in their places, it 
died away, and the mass began. 

You who have heard high mass in the pretty churches of 
our own land, imagine how grand and awe-inspiring was 
this mass to which I listened in the midst of so much splen- 
dor and beauty. A hundred pure voices responded to the 
trembling tones of the celebrant, and the vast arches rang 
again, and again, with the wonderful harmony. Clouds of 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 469 

incense surged heavenward from tlie altar steps and filled the 
holy place with a mistiness through which the tapers shone 
palely. A little silver bell rang shrilly from the foot oi 
the altar, and I saw gleaming through the clouds of smoke, 
the jewels of the case which held the consecrated wafer. 
Again the bell rang out its warning, and the Archbishop 
raised the sacred vessel high above the throng. Instantly, 
the sharp rattle of drums rolled through the church, and the 
trumpets I'ang out the salute, the colors of the troops that 
lined the aisle drooped heavily forward, the men dropped 
on their knees, with " presented arms," and every head in 
the vast throng was bowed in reverence, as the Archbishop 
slowly held the sacred vessel before all parts of the church. 
Then, how the music swelled upward again, and the sweet 
voices of the choristers joined in that grand old hymn of 
praise and thanksgiving which seems to gather fresh beauty 
with its increasing age. 

It was only too short; and when it was all over, when the 
final blessing had been given, and I stood listening to the 
pealing notes of the organ, and watching the brilliant throng 
depart, I found my cheeks wet with the silent tears of ex- 
quisite pleasure which the never-to-be-forgotten occasion had 
drawn from me. 



XXYIII. 
BOHEMIAN LIEE. 

Ix all large cities there is a class of men too lazy or too 
foolishly proud to work, or at least to work steadily and with 
the definite object of a support in view. How they live is a 
mystery to most persons, for they are miserably poor, and to 
all appearance are never engaged in any occupation but 
that of avoiding their landlords and other creditors. 

A majority of these men are either artists or writers, some 
of them possessed of decided abilities, but all aimless apd 
shiftless, and so wedded to their vagabondage as to be inca- 
pable of systematic exertion. If a success is won it is rarely 
followed up with a determined effort to win another, but is 
succeeded by a season, if not an entire life, of idleness. All 
dream of success, and say they are ambitious, but they find it 
much pleasanter to do nothing, even in poverty, than to 
work. They would like to be famous, and would enjoy 
wealth, and are perfectly willing to take both should they be 
thrust upon them, but as for working for them, they will 
have none of it. They pass strange lives, and though nom- 
inally " leading minds," sink their intellects in vagrancy or 
dissipation. They are termed Bohemians in consequence of 
living entirely by their wits. 

The truest types of Bohemians, and the purest and most 
genuine Bohemian communities, are to be found in the Latin 
Quarter. The Bohemians are mostly young men, lawyers, 
writers, musicians, artists, soldiers, and actors. They are too 
careless to think of the future, and look only to the enjoy- 
470 



PAPxIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 471 

ment of the present, and trust to luck for the days to come. 
They are seen to-day, pale and careworn, taking their meals 
in a wretched cremerie^ and to-morrow you may, perhaps, 
meet them radiant and careless in the most brilliant salons of 
the city. " Up one day, down the next," is a fair de- 
scription of them. The most industrious earn a precarious 
living by writing for the press and the stage, and by practis- 
ing various artifices known only to the initiated. Their 
money (when they have any) goes quickly. They are very 
popular with the pretty, vivacious grisettes, with whom their 
poverty is no crime, and when one of the poor fellows is laid 
in the fosse coramune, it is not unfrequently the case that the 
sincerest mourner present is some pretty girl of this class 
whom the dead man lightly loved, and, perhaps, still more 
lightly cast aside. They are the sworn enemies of landlords 
and tailors, and look upon them as a class of monsters sent 
upon the earth to torment men of genius. 

There is, amongst the Bohemians of Paris, an immense 
amount of talent, squandered and perverted as it is. In the 
midst of their vagrancy, they are conscious of their powers, 
and are restless and discontented. A revolution is hailed by 
them with joy, and they enter upon it with an energy and 
an ardor that contrasts strangely with their general habits. 
These upheavings invariably bring the best of this element 
to the surface, for, in spite of its faults, it has contributed 
some great men to the world. The most illustrious example 
that occurs to me is the First Napoleon, than whom, in his 
early manhood, a truer Bohemian never existed. Victor 
Hugo and many others that could be named, were at some 
time members of this class. Napoleon had the will as well 
as the genius to raise himself above the poverty and strug- 
gles of his youth, and when he came into power, profited by 
the lessons he had learned among his old companions. His 
keen knowledge of human nature, which may be said to 



472 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

have been almost intuitive, and his association with the 
dwellers in the great Bohemia, enabled him to call to his aid 
the best of its members — men endowed with genius and 
imbued with new ideas. He chose them with matchless 
skill ; he was quick to detect their good qualities, and he 
placed them where they would benefit and not injure France. 
Having done this, he held down the rest of the class with a 
firm hand. He recognized in them the natural enemies of 
law, order, and stability, and he knew that it was necessary 
to curb them rigidly, so that it is true that, while he was 
the unwavering foe of the Bohemians of Paris after his ele- 
vation to power, he also drew the most of the great digni- 
taries of his reign from amongst that element, and when- 
ever he needed new and more vigorous men he sought them 
there. 

The following account of some of the incidents in the life 
of a Bohemian is taken from a letter of M. Jules Fleury to 
Henry Miirger, the author of " Scenes in the Life of a Bo- 
hemian." Mlirger and Fleury passed their vagrant days 
together, and were sworn friends, even after they had won 
fame : 

"Nine years ago we lived together, and we possessed be- 
tween us fourteen dollars a month. Full of confidence in 
the future, we rented two rooms in the Rue de Vaurigard, 
for sixty, dollars a year. Youth does not reckon. You 
spoke to the porter's wife of such a sumptuous set of fur- 
niture that she let the rooms to you on your honest face, 
without asking references. Poor woman ! what thrills of 
horror ran through her when she saw our furniture set 
down before her door. You had six plates — three of which 
were of porcelain — a Shakspeare, the works of Victor Hugo, 
a chest of drawers in its dotage, and a Phrygian cap. By 
some extraordinary chance, I had two mattresses, a hundred 
and fifty volumes, an arm-chair, two plain chairs, a table, 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 473 

and a sknll. The idea of making a grand sofa belongs to 
you, I confess; but it was a deplorable idea. We sawed 
off the four feet of a cot-bedstead and made it rest on the 
floor ; the consequence of which was that the cot-bedstead 
proved to be utterly worthless. The porter's wife took pity 
on us, and lent us a second cot-bedstead, which furnished 
your chamber, which was likewise adorned with several 
dusty souvenirs you hung ou the wall : such as a woman's 
glove, a velvet mask, and various other objects which 
love had hallowed. The first week passed away in the 
most delightful manner. We stayed at home, we worked 
hard, we smoked a good deal. I have found among this 
mountain of papers a blank sheet, on which is written, 
'Beatrix: A Drama, in Five Acts. By Henry Miirger. 

Played at the Theatre, on the — ■ day of , 18 — .' 

This sheet was torn out of an enormous blank copy-book — ■ 
for you were guilty of the execrable habit of using all our 
paper to write nothing else but the titles of dramas. You 
wrote 'Played' as seriously as could be, just to see what 
effect the title-page would produce. Our paper disappeared 
too fast in this way. Luckily, when all of it had disap- 
peared, you discovered — heaven knows where, or how — 
some old atlas of geography, where alternate leaves were 
blank — a discovery which enabled us to do without the 
stationer. « * * You resolved, on the third of Novem- 
ber, that we would cook our own victuals as loner as the 
fourteen dollars lasted ; so you bought a soup-pot, which 
cost fifteen cents, some thyme, and some laurel ; being a 
poet, you had such a marked weakness for laurel, you used 
to poison all the soup with it." 

Their mode of living may be gathered from the following 
extracts : 

" When money failed us, you pointed out to me an old 
cashmere shawl, we used as a table cover. I told you, 



474 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

'They will give notbing for that.' You replied, 'Oh, jes 
they will, if we add pantaloons and waistcoast to it.' I 
added pantaloons and waistcoast, and you took the bundle 
and started for the den in Place de la Croix Eouge. You 
soon came back with the huge package, and you were sad 
enough as you said, ' They are disagreeable yonder ; try in 
the Eue de Conde, the clerks who are accustomed to deal 
with students are not so hard-hearted as they are in the 
Place de la Croix Eouge.' I went to the Eue de Conde, 
The two pairs of pantaloons, the famous shawl, and the 
waistcoats.were closely examined ; even their pockets were 
searched. ' We cannot lend anything on that^'' said the 
pawnbroker's clei'k, disdainfully pushing the ' things away 
from him. You had the excellent habit of never despairing. 
You said, ' We must wait until this evening ; at night all 
clothes are new, and to take every precaution, I shall go 
to the pawnbroker's shop in the Eue du Fouare, where all 
the poor go ; as they are accustomed there to see nothing- 
pledged but rags and tatters, our clothes will glitter like 
barbaric pearl and gold.' Alas, the Eue du Fouare was 
cruel as his brethren." 

There is another class of men who may be included 
amongst the Bohemian element, who are simply idlers, men 
too lazy to work. They are called loungers. " The lounger," 
says Jules Janin, " does not acknowledge that he is a 
lounger ; on the contrary, he considers himself — happy 
man ! — the busiest and most laborious person in the world. 
He a lounger ! how can you imagine such a thing ; he has a 
perfect horror of idleness; he is hardly risen in the morning 
before he betakes himself to his favorite work ; if an artist, 
he is at his painting ; a poet, at his poem : a statesman, at 
his correspondence. You will see how he will work to-day, 
for it must be confessed, he is not quite satisfied with yester- 
day ; yesterday he went out to look for a dqcument which 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 475 

he wants, some advice of which he is in need, a little color 
for his sky, blue or black, but now he will -do without it, he 
will not stir out all day, time is too precious ; it is the 
thread of which the life of man is spun. Now, says he, for 
work ! Our hero heaves a sigh, and at last his resolution is 
taken ; the color is on the pallet, the inspiration has come — 
or the white paper is waiting for the laborious writer — yes, 
but there is a provoking ray of the sun shedding its bright 
yellow light below in the street ; or else, here is a tiresome 
cloud, throwing darkness into my room ; and then it is cold — 
it is warm — my head is heavy. * * * * * ' If I were 
to profit by this moment, to go and see my friend Theodore,' 
says the lounger to himself. ' Theodore lives not far from 
here, he is always at home till six o'clock, he gives good 
advice, and he really loves me ; I will go, it is only a 
moment's affair. On my word of honor I shall be back in 
an hour. Madame Julien,' says he to the portress, ' I shall 
be back immediately ; if any one calls upon me tell him to 
wait ; and take care of my fire, and get my dinner for me ; 
for I mean to work all day and part of the night.' So saying 
to Madame Julien, who laughs in her sleeve, he goes out 
into the street. He is no longer the same man, his head is 
raised, his chest dilates, his legs feel lighter, life reascends to 
his cheek, hope to his heart. He looks at everything with 
as much astonishment as our first father Adam could have 
felt when he awoke in the midst of the works of creation. 
At this moment he has forgotten everything ; his wife, if 
he has a wife, (but more often the lounger is not married,) 
his creditors, his work, his ambition, his genius, everything, 
even himself. If he were ill, he would forget his malady, 
while lounging. There he is; make room for him. While 
the crowd respectfully gives place to him, he sees it not ; he 
mingles in it without knowing it, without intending it, as 
wave mingles with wave. The crowd draws and pushes him 



476 PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

wherever he wishes to go." Be sure the lounger will never 
accomplish anything. He will always be a lounger. 

There is yet another class, who have some means, very 
slight, but still something, but who are unwilling to work. 
A pleasant writer calls them the "Poor Bachelors," and thus 
describes them : 

" The Poor Bachelor is innately indolent, not with the in- 
dolence of the English sluggard, who lies a-bed to mid-day, 
and then remains at home with slippers on his feet and a 
yawn at his mouth, but with a sort of cultivated, elegant 
indolence, that very much resembles philosophy. You can- 
not condole with him on his poverty, because he makes a 
boast of it. He has nothing, but he desires nothing. Man 
is a ray of sunshine that is gone when it has shone ; the path 
of life is rugged, let us strew it with flowers ; we can die but 
once, and it is better to die with white hands and rosy finger 
nails, than with horny palms ! These and a thousand other 
such remarks make up the doctrine of the Poor Bachelor. 
He repels, however, the accusation of idleness. He is up 
betimes in the morning, and has walked three times round 
the garden of the Palais Eoyal before many business people 
have opened their eyes. He punctually reads every line of 
some favorite journal. He is a useful part of the social 
machinery, because he carries about little scraps -of news 
from one place to another, as sparrows do bits of stick. He 
calls on all his friends at regular intervals, and is the orna- 
ment of some family circle. 

" The resources which the Poor Bachelor has at his dis- 
posal are, of course, various ; but he rarely has more than a 
thousand francs a-year, because if he had he would belong 

to another category. Monsieur F is the extremest 

case I know of. Pie has precisely 500 francs, or 20/. a-year — 
the produce of a small capital placed at good interest in one 
of the ready-made clothes houses, where, I suspect — on this 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 477 

point he is impenetrably discreet — he was once a clerk. I 
could point out the house in which he lives, but have never 
been asked up-stairs; for it is one of the first rules of con- 
duct in this class not to be at home, except in some coffee- 
house at certain hours of the day. Their room is 'a nest,' 

as they call it, to sleep in. F • — • tells me, that more 

than twenty years ago he was fortunate enough to find 
a mansarde for sixty francs a-year. He has remained in it 
ever since, and his landlord has refrained from raising his 
rent on the tacit understanding that his tenant shall play a 
game of dominoes with him on Sunday after dinner. For 
this reason the bachelor is missed at his post in the cafe of 
the Rue du Bouloi every seventh evening, and every Monday 
is exposed to the satirical remarks of his cronies, who pretend 
to imasj'ine that he observes the Sabbath ! 

O 

"But how is i* possible for even an old gentleman to be 
always dressed in garments not very threadbare, to appear 
occasionally in a new hat, to have his silver snuff-box re- 
plenished every morning, and to show a rosy and invariably 
smiling face, on 20?. a-year, or 17?. 12s. rent deducted? M. 

F — ■■ 's own account of the matter, which he gave me one 

day that we were alone at the cafe, is as follows : ' When I 
have taken my little turn round the garden I slip into a by- 
street, where there is a baker who invariably has my sou 
loaf ready in a corner. With this I go to the cremerie^ or 
milk-shop, and ask for five centimes' worth of milk, which I 
dilute with water, and drink as I eat my bread, and talk to 
the mistress of the place about twenty years ago, when 

she was a morsel for a king and I But let that pass. 

[This was said with a very eloquent smile.] Your young 
stomach would, not be satisfied with this; but I am then 
armed for the day. I feel light and cheerful ; and as the 
afternoon advances, begin to look forward to the great 
affair — the important occupation of dinner. That meal is 



478 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

my delight. I spare no expense. Let those wlio know 
nothing be attracted by the gilded salons of the Palais 
Eoyal, and help to pay their extravagant rents. Thirty-two 
sous — two francs for a dinner! It is monstrous ; and what 
a dinner! /go back to my cremerie^ where I have long had 
the privilege [another smile] of dining. The good woman 
gives me a bowl of soup or plate of beef, and another of 
roast meat, or stewed meat, or vegetables, with fruit or 
cheese for dessert — all for sixteen sous. Do not imagine 
that I am at all favored in the price ; there are three other 
customers equally well treated : but I flatter myself that my 
portions are a little more copious ; and yet the cremerie makes 
a fair profit. In this way, you see, the two great expenses 
of the day are provided for; and I have 109 francs left. 
Now I see by your face,' continued the old gentleman, cross- 
ing his legs and stirring about a piece of sugar in a glass of 
water, 'that you are counting up that this leaves me only 
about six sous a-day for washing, tobacco, coffee, expenses, 
etc. I must, therefore, reveal to you the great secret of 
philosophical life in Paris. My little talents of society have 
procured me friends, who invite me to dinner on an average 
once a-week ; I have some relations, to whom I go one other 
day ; and — I am very lucky at dominoes.' " 




480 



XXIX. 
PARISIAN CHURCHES. 

Theee are sixty-five Parish churclies in the City of Paris, 
bssides chapels and other religious edifices, but of all these, 
only about twenty merit special attention. Indeed, the 
majority of visitors to Paris will find that even this number 
is a large estimate, for nine out of ten will soon learn to 
regard the hours spent in visiting all but the principal 
churches as lost time. I shall, therefore, call my reader's 
attention merely to those which seem to me most worthj 
of it. 

To my mind the most beautiful church in the city, aftei 
Notre Dame, is that of Sainte-Genevieve, which stands on 
the soutlj side of the river upon the most elevated ground in 
the city. It is built in the Italian style, and Avas erected at 
the instance of Madame de Pompadour, to replace the 
ancient parish church of Sainte-Genevieve, the patron Saint 
of Paris. In 1792, the Revolution converted it into a 
Panthdon, "to perpetuate the memory of illustrious citizens," 
and upon the massive front was placed the inscription in gilt 
letters still there: ^'Aux Grands Hnmmes la Pairie reconnais- 
sayite." In 1822, the edifice was given back to religion ; in 
1832, it was again converted into a Pantheon ; and, finally, 
in 1853, was restored to the worship of the Almighty. In 
the insurrection of June, 18-49, it was seized and occupied by 
the insurgents, and the doors were battered down with 
cannon. 

The external appearance of the church is very beautiful 
31 481 



482 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

and imposing. The dome is the finest in the city, and forms 
a conspicuous object in any view of Paris. The building is 
three hundred and forty feet long, and the highest point of 
the lantern is two hundred and sixty -seven feet above the 
floor. The tympanum of the portico is one hundred and 
twenty-one feet in width and twenty-two feet in height. It 
rests upon tAventy-two magnificent Corinthian columns, and 
is richly ornamented with an allegorical bass-relief. " The 
plan of the church is that of a Greek cross. The interior is 
devoid of much ornament, but the vastness of its size and 
the sublimity of its triple dome give it an imposing air, 
which would be destroyed were there introduced those 
details which so well embellish smaller edifices. In the south 
transejDt is an altar to Sainte-Grenevieve, to whom the church 
is dedicated, and another to the Virgin, both of them very 
elegant. Copies by M. Baize, of the frescoes of Michael 
Angelo and Raphael in the Vatican adorn the walls ; and on 
the spandrels of the arches which support the dome are four 
allegorical paintings, representing Death, Justice, France, 
and Napoleon. The cupola is painted by Legros, and con- 
sists of four groups, each containing a monarch of France, 
whose reign is supposed to form an epoch in her history." 

A flight of four hundred and seventy-five steps leads to 
the lantern, from which a magnificent view of the citj^ and 
surrounding country may be obtained. 

In the vaults of the church are the remains of Voltaire 
and Rousseau. Mirabeau was buried here shortly after his 
death, but his remains were taken away by the mob in a fit 
of popular fury. Several of Napoleon's Marshals and 
Generals are buried here, as is also Souffiot the architect of 
the building. The church marks the spot where the remains 
of Clovis were placed in 511. 

Not far from the Pantheon is the Church of the Sorbonne, 
attached to the great school of the same name. It is a large, 




Interior of 8ninte-Gonevifeve, 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 4 83 

handsome cliurcli, Palladian in st3^1e, and was erected in 
1629. In a recess on the right as you enter, is the tomb of 
the great Cardinal Richelieu. It is ornamented with a group 
representing the dying Cardinal, sustained by religion and 
moui'ued by science. These figures are said to be portraits 
of his nieces, the Duchesses of Guyon and Fronsac. Over 
the tomb is suspended the red hat of the great Minister, far 
more attractive to his admirers than the fine sculptures 
beneath it. During the Eevolution the tomb was violated 
and the head of the Cardinal severed from his body. In 
1861 it was discovered in a singular manner, and reunited to 
the body after seventy-two years of separation. 

A little to the east of the Garden of the Luxembourg 
you can see the fine dome of the Church of the Val de 
Grace^ attached to the military hospital of the same name. 
It is a handsome structure in the Italian style. The interior 
of the dome is finely painted by Mignard. These paintings 
represent the three Persons of the Trinity, and Anne of 
Austria, (by which Queen the church and the hospital, orig- 
inally a convent, were founded,) surrounded by upwards of 
two hundred figures of saints. The sculptures throughout 
the church are very elaborate, and are very good. The 
chapels are handsomely ornamented. That of the Holy 
Sacrament contains several of Philippe de Champagne's 
pictures. During the existence of the convent, the nuns 
sat in the choir, and the public in the nave. The gratings 
behind which the sisters sat may still be seen. 

Just back of the Pantheon is the fine old Church of Samt- 
J^tienne-du Mont, (Saint Stephen of the Mount.) It is very 
large, and is one of the most interesting of the many re- 
ligious edifices of the city. The foundation dates back to 
the Eleventh Century, when it is supposed the square tower 
and turret were built. The main building was commenced 
in 1517 and completed about 1626. The west front was 



484 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

built about 1610, and is quite in the Eenaissance style. 
Some years ago the edijEice, which was greatly in need of 
repairs, was almost entirely restored. The interior is very 
fine, and differs very much from the majority of the 
Parisian churches. The roof is vaulted, and is supported 
by immense round pillars, which are themselves strength- 
ened by lateral arches. A fine gallery extends along both 
sides of the church, and is reached by two beautiful spiral 
stairways. Another gallery, communicating with these 
stairways, extends directly across the body of the church 
about the middle, and is ornamented with statuary and 
carvings. It is an exquisite piece of workmanship. It 
forms the jube or rood-screen. The stained glass windows 
are very good, and date back to the Sixteenth Century. The 
organ was made in the Seventeenth Centurj^, and is still an 
excellent instrument. The church is provided with numerous 
side chapels, some of which are very fine. One of these, situ- 
ated on the south side of the chancel, contains a sepulchral 
urn, said to enclose the ashes of Sainte-Genevieve, the 
patron Saint of Paris. It was found in the vaults of the 
old Parish Church of Sainte-Genevieve, when that structure 
was demolished to make way for the Pantheon. There 
are those, however, who dispute the genuineness of the 
relic, and assert that the true urn was broken by the mob 
and its contents scattered to the winds during the Eevolu- 
tion. The present urn, however, whether genuine or not, 
answers all the purposes of the faithful. It is usually sur- 
rounded by lighted tapers, placed there by devotees, who 
regard it with the greatest veneration. 

In the Eue Bonaparte, about half way between Saint 
Sulpice and the river, is the old Abbey Church of Saint- 
Germain-des-Pres. The Abbey to which it was formerly 
attached, was founded by King Childel)ert I. in the year 
550, at the request of Saint Germanus. It stood in the 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 485 

meadows that bordered the left bank of the Seine, from 
which circumstance it derived the latter half of its name. 
These meadows were a part of its domain, and, from the 
earliest times to the close of the Seventeenth Oenturv, were 
the favorite resort of the monks of the city and of the 
students of the colleges on the south side. They consti- 
tuted the famous Pre aux Ckrcs^ reference to which has 
been made elsewhere. The old church was the burial 
place of the Merovingian Kings of the Sixth and Seventh 
Centuries. Their tombs were violated and plundered dur- 
ing the Eevolution, and a few of their monuments have 
beeu removed to, and are preserved at, Saint Denis. Mon- 
archs and nobles showered gifts upon the Abbey, which at 
leiigth became one of the wealthiest institutions in France. 
Its estates included all of the present Faubourg Saint Ger- 
main ; and its buildings Avere so numerous that they con- 
stituted almost a town of their own. The Eues I'Echaude, 
St. Benoit, Ste. Marguerite, and St. Jacob mark the line of 
its outer wall, and where the Eue de I'Abbaye now runs 
once stood the Great Cloister, In the Seventeenth Century, 
wlien the discipline of the Benedictines was reformed, this 
x^bbey became the property of the Congregation of Saint 
^faur, which body produced a series of the brightest lights 
of the Roman Catholic Church — -such men as Mabillon, 
Montfaucon, Bouquet, Calmet, Felibien, and Du Cange. 

The Abbots of Saint-Germain-des-Pres, were invested 
with almost regal powers over their domains, amongst which 
was the right of deciding questions of life and property. 
They built a prison for the safe keeping of their culprits, 
and made it one of the strongest and most secure in Paris. 
This old prison witnessed a terrible scene during the Revo- 
lution. It was crowded with Royalist prisoners of all ranks, 
ages, and conditions, and on that terrible Second of September, 
1792, there was a general thinning out of the Aristocrats for 



486 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

the purpose of striking terror to the hearts of the Emigres 
who were advancing upon Paris under the Duke of Bruns- 
wick. Maillard and his mock court sat in the prison yard, 
while three hundred armed assassins, sent there by the Com- 
mune to perform their horrid work, waited their victims 
\yithout the gates. One by one the wretched captives were 
brought before the tribunal of death, and one by one, with 
rare exceptions, they were passed out of the gates. One 
glance they had of the furious mob with its bristling pikes 
and swords, and the next moment the bright steel was red 
with their life blood. Billaud Varennes, with his wicked 
eloquence urged on the assassins, promising them money for 
their work, and crafty Marat — that blood-hound in human 
shape — told them they were too slow. One thousand and 
eighty-nine Aristocrats were "thinned out" in Paris that day, 
and of these the greater part lay before the gates of the 
Abbaye. The old prison was demolished in 1854-55, to 
make room for the improvements which have so changed 
this neighborhood. The church and the Abbot's house, 
which is almost intact, are all that remain of what was once 
the most famous Abbey in France. 

The original church founded by Childebert, was burned 
by the Normans, and the present edifice dates from the early 
part of the Twelfth Century. It is almost hidden in the 
surrounding houses, and you would pass a dozen times with- 
out noticing it. A square Norman tower pierced Avith round 
arches rises from the western end, and forms the principal 
entrance. The exterior, as seen from the street, is plain 
and unimposing. The interior is two hundred and fourteen 
feet long, sixty-nine feet wide, and sixty-two feet high. It 
was greatly injured during the Revolution, having been con- 
verted into a saltpetre manufactory. The damage thus 
received was so great that it was necessary to almost entirely 
restore the church. Repairs were begun in 1820, and con- 




Interior of Saint. Ktionne du Alont. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 487 

tinned until 1836. MucTi of the gilding and frescoing was 
done between tlie years 1852 and 1856. The church is 
richly decorated, and in the choir are a number of beautiful 
triple iiiurble columns, which constitute the only remaining 
porticms of the original edifice destroyed by the Normans. 
They were erected in the Seventh Century. Tlje roof of the 
nave and choir is covered with gilt stars on a blue ground, 
and the nave is decorated in a singular and not very beauti- 
ful manner. The church abounds in fine paintings and 
frescoes. Some of these are very beautiful, and the subjects 
of all are either historical or allegorical. The church and 
the side chapels contain a number of interesting monuments. 
The tombs of the old kings have disappeared, but those of 
Descartes, Mabillon, Montfaucon, Boileau, Oliver and Louis 
de Castellan, two of the Scotch Earls of Angus, and John 
Casimir Y., King of Poland, and afterwards Abbot of Saint 
Germain, are still preserved. There are few edifices in the 
city more thoroughly interesting and worth visiting than 
this old church. 

The church of Saint Sidpice, in the place of the same 
name, is one of the handsomest ornaments of the Latin 
Quarter. It has an imposing front, with two stately towers, 
between which is a portico supported by fluted Doric columns 
and surmounted by an Ionic one. It was begun in 161:6 
and finished in 1721. It is built in the Italian style, and is 
o;rand and massive in its details. The interior is four hun- 
dred and sixty feet long, and one hundred and nine feet high. 
It is arranged on the plan of a Gothic Cathedral, and is one 
of the best proportioned churches in the city. It is richly 
ornamented with paintings and frescoes, and some of its side 
chapels are very beautiful. The chapel of the Virgin is 
magnificent. The paintings are by Vanloo, and the marbles 
and gildings are in keeping. At the back, in a deep recess, 
is a statue of the Virgin by Pajou. A rich flo^)d of light, 



488 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

streaming from an artistically concealed window, falls over 
it, and produces a very liappy effect. An extensive under- 
croft, or crypt, lies beneath the church. This beautiful 
edifice was converted during the Eevolution into a Temple 
of Victory. It afterwards became the Temple of the Theo- 
philanthropists, and in 1799, a banquet was given in it to 
the young Conqueror, General Bonaparte. 

At the western end of the Boulevards, and fronting the 
Eue Koyale, is the beautiful church of the Madeleine^ dedi- 
cated to Saint Mary Magdalen. " This vast imitation of a 
classic temple was begun in 1764, for a church, and the col- 
umns were about two-thirds of their height when the Revolu- 
tion of 1789 stopped the works. In 1806, Napoleon decreed 
from Posen, that it should be finished and convei'ted into a 
Temple of Glory, and some progress was made in conse- 
quence. In 1816, it was again destined for a church, but it 
remained surrounded with a scaffolding, a melancholy object 
in a forlorn condition, until Louis Philippe at length finished 
it, under M. Huve, in 1842. Externally, it is an enormous 
Roman temple, surrounded by a portico of fifty-two fluted 
composite columns, each forty-nine feet high, supporting an 
elaborately carved frieze and entablature. Beneath the por- 
tico are thirty-four niches, containing statues of Saints. The 
south pediment is one hundred and twenty-six feet long, 
twenty-three feet high, and contains a huge bass-relief, by 
Lemaire, representing the Last Judgment, in the centre of 
which is the Magdalen interceding with Christ. The bronze 
doors, with bass-reliefs of the Delivering of the Command- 
ments, and emblems of each in the ten compartments, were 
designed by Baron de Trequeti — the unrequited labor of 
seven years. The interior of the church is one vast hall or 
nave, lighted from above, through four domes or cupolas; 
length, two hundred and sixty-one feet ; breadth, seventy 
feet, height under the cupolas, one hundred and nine feet. 




489 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



491 



It is gorgeously gilded and adorned with paintings, statues, 
and colored marbles; and though the mixture of classical 
and Renaissance details has been criticised, it might be diffi- 
cult to construct better decorations for so unpromising an 
interior. Over the high altar is the Assumption of the 
Virgin, borne to Heaven by angels, a fine marble by Maro- 
chetti, and on each side an angel in prayer. On the vault of 
the tribune above is an elaborate composition, by Zeigler ; 




Interior of The Madeleine. 

in the centre is Mary Magdalen before Christ ; and the rest 
allegorical to the spread of Christianity, from the death of 
Christ to the time of Napoleon." The other decorations are 
elaborate. The general effect is prepossessing, though the 
absence of windows at first strikes one unpleasantly. The 
building and its decorations cost about twelve and a half 
millions of francs. It is one of the most fashionable churches 
of the city, and is largely attended. 

Just opposite the colonnade of the Louvre, is the Church 



492 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

of Saint- Germain-VAuxerrois. The original church was 
founded by Childebert, but it has disappeared, and there is 
no part of the present edifice older than the Twelfth Century. 
The tower dates from that era, and the choir and apse from 
the first part of the Thirteenth Century. The nave and 
chapels were built during the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Cen- 
turies, but have been much altered since then. It was the 
parish church of the Court, and it was here that the members 
of the royal family were baptized. The seats of the king and 
his family, dating from 1684, are still preserved in the 
church. There was formerly a large cloister attached to the 
church, in which Admiral Coligni was wounded two days 
before the massacre of Saint Bartholomew. It was the bell* 
of this old church that gave the signal for the massacre, and 
this signal was answered by the tocsin of the Gonciergerie on 
the other side of the river. In 1617, the body of the Italian 
favorite of the Queen, Marshal d'Ancre, was laid in state in 
this church. The populace broke into the building and 
dragged out the corpse into the streets. The interior was 
greatly disfigured in 1745, by an attempt to change it to the 
Italian style, and, strange to say, this barbarous efibrt was 
made under the sanction of the Academy of Fine Arts. On 
the 14th of February, 1831, an attempt was made to com- 
memorate the anniversary of the assassination of the Duke 
de Berri by a solemn mass. This roused the fury of the 
populace, who broke into the church and completel}^ gutted 
it. It was abandoned and remained in this condition until 
1838, when Louis Philippe caused it to be restored at a con- 
siderable outlay. 

Altogether it forms one of the most attractive religious 
edifices in the city. The western front, with its handsome 

* This bell has been removed to the Palais de Justice, and its place 
is supplied by a peal of forty bells, one of the finest and most musical 
in France. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 493 

porch is very fine. The portal of the central door dates 
from the early part of the Thirteenth Centmy, and retains 
all of its original statues and carvings. The interior is very 
beautiful, but has been so frequently changed that it is hard 
to tell which part is original and which is modern. The 
style is chaste and beautiful. The Gothic pillars and arches 
are of white stone, and afford a beautiful contrast with the 
richly painted windows. The frescoes and paintings are 
numerous. The chapels are not so attractive as the church, 
but that of Our Lady is very handsome. It occupies four 
arches on the south side, and is really a complete church in 
itself. The edifice is two hundred and fifty-four feet long, and 
one hundred and twenty-seven feet wide at the transept. It 
was once filled with monuments, but with a few exceptions 
the}'- have all disappeared. Until 1856 the church was almost 
entirely surrounded with houses, but the present Emperor 
has cleared them away, and between the western front and 
the Louvre now lies a broad and handsome square. 

The parish church of the Tuileries and one of the most 
fashionable in the city, is Saint Boch, in the Eue Saint 
Honor^. It is a very large, unattractive edifice, but contains 
some fine paintings. The music is said to be the best in 
Paris. When the Sections rose against the Directory during 
the Eevolution, they posted themselves on the steps of this 
old church, and were swept from it by the cannon of the 
young General Bonaparte. 

The Church of Saint Severin, in the place of the same 
name, near the lower end of the Rue Saint Jacques, is one of 
the finest Gothic churches in Paris, and dates from the Fif- 
teenth Century. It is built with a central nave, and two aisles 
and ranges of chapels on each side. The exterior is good 
but not remarkable for beauty or elegance, but the interior 
is very fine. "The pointed arches of the nave are sur- 
mounted by a double row of elegant Gothic windows, the 



494 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

uppermost containing mucTi colored glass of tlie Fifteenth and 
Sixteenth Centuries. The chapels on each side have been 
painted by modern artists. The piers of the ambulatory behind 
the choir, and the groining of the vaults, are Avorthy of notice. 
In the time of Henry IV., there were paintings on a gold 
,2;round above the arches of the nave and choir. In 1684, 
Mademoiselle de Montpensier disfigured the choir by the 
introduction of colored marbles and round arches." 

In the Eue Montmartre, where it opens into the Place des 
Halles, is the parish Church of Sai7it Mustache, a fine speci- 
men of the late Grothic or Eenaissance. It is the largest in 
Paris, after Notre Dame, and is attached to the largest and 
richest parish. The western portal is very fine, and the 
side towards the market is massive and exceedingly rich in 
sculptures and stone carvings. 

The interior is three hundred and thirty-seven feet long, 
and one hundred and five feet high. The church, " one of the 
finest and loftiest in Paris, was begun in 1532, and conse- 
crated in 1637. In 1804 it was visited by Pius YIL, when 
the ceremony of a second consecration was gone through. 
The interior has recently been cleaned and ornamented. It 
consists of a nave, two aisles, and shallow transept. It is 
remarkable for the height of its roof, the delicacy of its 
pillars, and the beautiful effect of its tout ensemble. The 
length of time which it took in building is no doubt the 
cause of the defect which exists in its architectural harmony, 
for we see the Grecian orders blended together with the 
Gothic and the Eenaissance style. The roof is supported 
by ten parallel pillars, which rise one hundred feet from the 
ground, and which again support half-way up a gallery, 
running entirely around the church. There are some good 
paintings by Vanloo. Above the gallery are twelve windows, 
ornamented with stained glass, very valuable both as to 
desi2;n and color. The interior of the choir is also much 




^^- 



.^i^J^c^.: 



H=ll:h'i(.i^iM'^ i^''- 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AXD GASLIGHT. 495 

admired for the beauty of its decorations. The high altar is 
of pure Parian marble, exquisitely sculptured, and cost 
upwards of three thousand pounds. The reading desk is the 
same which formerly stood in ISTotre-Dame, but which was 
displaced during the revolution of 1793. 

" The church is surrounded by chapels, highly ornamented. 
In that dedicated to the Virgin is a marble statue of the 
Virgin, executed by Pigal ; the sides of the chapel are 
adornecf by some good bass-reliefs. In the same chapel is 
the tomb of Colbert, by Coysevox. The organ over the 
doorway has recently been built, and is considered one of 
the finest in Paris." 

Besides the edifices already named, are a number worth 
visiting. Amongst these are the churches of Saint Grervais, 
behind the Hotel de Ville, and containing the tomb of the 
poet wit Scarron ; Saint Merri, in the Rue Saint Martin, a 
fine specimen of the age of Francis I. ; and Saint Paul and 
Saint Louis, in the Pue Saint Antoine, a beautiful building 
of the early part of the Seventeenth Century. 

The modern churches are all showy and elaborate. The 
most attractive are the churches of Saint Jean-Baptiste, at 
Belleville; La Trinite, in the Rue Saint Lazare ; Saint Vin- 
cent-de-Paul, in the Place Lafayette : and Notre-Lame-de-. 
Lorette, in the street of the same name. 

All these are establishments of the Catholic Church, and 
together with their clergy, are supported by the State. All 
denominations, however, are tolerated in France, and the 
most prominent are represented by church edifices, the hand- 
somest being that of the Greek Faith, known as the Russian 
Church, near the Park of ATonceaux. The Jewish Syna- 
gogues are very fine. The State makes a liberal donation 
to each denomination, so that all creeds have an equal 
chance for doing good, so far as the action of the Government 
is concerned. 



X X X. 

THE GOBELINS. 

One of the most interesting buildings in Paris is the Im- 
]Derial Manufactory of Gobelin Tapestry, which is situated 
in the Rue Mouffetard. It was founded in 1450 by one Jean 
Gobelin, a dyer, on the stream of the Bievre, whose waters 
enjoyed a repute for a peculiar property, which assisted the 
production of certain rich tints, such as scarlet and purple, 
which were in so much request in the dyeing of the silk 
thread or wools used in the manufacture of tapestry. The 
family of the Gobelins emigrated from Holland to France, 
and someof their descendants and connections have for centu- 
ries been workers of the royal tapestry in Paris. 

Since the time of Henry IV., who converted this factory 
into a government establishment, almost all of the French 
sovereigns have been liberal patrons of the art. Even the 
Eepublic, though it forbade the aristocratic designs which 
had formerly given fame to the Gobelins, gave the workmen 
handsome orders for true democratic pictures. The best 
friends of the establishment have been the Napoleons ; and 
the present Emperor is by no means behind his illustrious 
uncle. In common with Louis XIV., he takes great care of 
and interest in his Gobelins, who are workmen of the middle 
class of life in France, and most intelligent individuals. 
They are men of refined taste and intellect. Indeed, much 
of the beauty of the execution of their work is, as it were, 
dependent on their appreciation of the beautiful designs they 
cooy and the attuning of their own ideas to the spirit of 
496 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 497 

their Eaphael, Correggio and Eubens models. It is their 
aim to reproduce in their looms the ideas and successes of 
these masters. Admittance to an inspection of this establish- 
ment is very jealously guarded. A foreigner must produce 
his passport, and each visitor an order from the government, 
before he is permitted to enter its sacred precincts. 

There are nearly fifty workmen employed, besides pupils 
who are learning and assisting in these workshops. The 
visitor after surveying the specimens of old and modern 
tapestry hanging on the walls in a few rooms up stairs, de- 
scends one floor to inspect the workshops. The heat is ex- 
cessive, the atmosphere being, doubtless, heated to a fixed 
degree of temperature, for some reason connected with the 
tension of the warp, or chaine of the looms There is a 
notice placed over each door, requesting visitors to be " care- 
ful of shutting the same every time they come in or go out 
of the rooms." There is no machinery or mechanical con- 
trivance to be seen anywhere. The workmen are very 
silent, and seem absorbed in their noiseless work. 

In the tapestry of haute-lice and basse-lice, the workman 
does all his work on the wrong side of the stuff and the back 
of his frame ; he sits behind his frame, hidden from view, 
while he sees his execution on the right side. The terms 
haute-lice and basse-lice have relation to the direction of the 
chaines, or warp on the loom, and that of the working of the 
design. In frames or looms for haute-lice tapestry, the 
warp is vertical, and the work is done from the bottom to 
the top vertically ; the lices are pieces of wood, placed at the 
top and bottom of the frame, having rollers attached to 
them, which, one way, at the top, unroll the warp or chaine 
for the progress of the work, and the other way, at the 
bottom of the frame, roll up what is finished. In the frames 
for basse-lice, the lices, or wood rollers, are placed horizon- 
tally, and perform the same service exactly, but the warp is 
32 



498 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

horizontal, and the design is worked laterally from one side 
to the other, instead of straight upwards or vertically, as is 
done in haute-lice tapestry. Pieces of tapestry which de- 
mand solidity, strength and width, rather than height, are 
worked in basse-lice. 

The workman uses a large wooden needle or peg ; the silk 
is wound round and round it; he may now and then have 
fifty needles in use by his side (each laden with its. shade) 
according to the colors he is working into his loom. The 
model he works from is a faithful copy of some good 
picture, and is placed behind him over his head. He has to 
turn round and glance up at it continually. Two men gener- 
ally work side by side behind some of the frames from the 
same pattern, and thus they divide the model between them, 
and work from different points of view in the picture. In 
the Savonnerie department, farther on, the famous Turkey 
and velvet pile carpets are manufactured, these being princi- 
pally for the Imperial residences. In this room the work- 
man sits in front of his loom on a high stool, and works on 
the right side of the warp. He has frames for haute-lice and 
basse-lice also. He works with a little larger needle, of the 
same sort as his neighbor's in the next room ; his warp is 
much coarser; when he has worked in his designs in wool or 
worsted and different materials he cuts the stitches (each 
of which he has first to cut and knot securely) across with a 
penknife, just as ladies do when they wish to produce the 
effect of velvet-raised foliage in Berlin worsted work; his 
pattern is placed by the side of the loom. In both depart- 
ments, the outline of the workman's model is traced out in 
the warp or chaine in black ink. 

The work of the Gobelins will, perhaps, be better under- 
stood by the addition of a few words on the instruments em- 
ployed by them. The worsted thread is wound upon the 
neck of the pointed wooden tool (made of sycamore or lime- 




4:99 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 501 

tree), the neck being about three-and-a-half inches long ; this 
end of it introduces a worsted thread between the perpendicu- 
lar threads and the warp, Ifhe fine-pointed end serving to press 
the worsted down into a horizontal position, where it is made 
more firm and tight in the web by the use of the other 
toothed instrument. 

Perfect proficiency in the art is not attained within a lesser 
period than forty years, and many a man has died previous 
to the completion of the hangings of a single bed in a palace. 
Boys enter on the occupation at the age of twelve years, and 
whole families live and die in the establishment. Many a 
piece of Gobelin tapestry has occupied five men through six 
years at the rate of fifty hours weekly on one frame. The 
Cartoons of Raphael have been exquisitely wrought at the 
Gobelins, and were sent as royal presents within the last 
twenty years to various large churches and cathedrals in 
France. 



XXXI. 
THE PONT NEUF. 

'What London Bridge is to the great Metropolis of Eng- 
land, that is the Pont JSTeuf to Paris. Were there a thousand 
bridges over the Thames, the stones of London Bridge would 
still be worn with the same rapidity, and were there as many 
points of communication between the north and south shores 
of the Seine, the Pont Neuf would doubtless witness no 
diminution of the throngs that pass it daily. Go there when 
you will, you will always find it full of people, and it 
has been said that if you remain there for a week looking at 
all who pass you, you will surely meet the man you seek. 

" This bridge," says Jules Janin, " has been traversed by 
the whole history of France, under its different phases. Here 
were sold pamphlets against Cardinal Mazariu, and songs 
against Louis XIV., as long as Louis XIY. allowed people 
to sing songs against him. On one corner of this j)enin- 
sula, Comedy was born ; not then the comedy of Moliere, 
but the comedy of Tabarin, the mountebank of the Pont 
Neuf. Even now, when so many bridges have been thrown 
across the Seine — when at every step you meet the Pout 
Louis Philippe, the Pont des Arts, the Pont du Carrousel, 
,the Pont Eoyal, the Pont de la Concorde — the Pont Neuf is 
and long will be the passage most frequented by the crowd 
— the favorite bridge of the Parisians, who have placed it 
under the patronage of their old friend, Henry TV. On 
every side the Pont Neuf leads to some important place. 
It formerly led the condemned to the Gr^ve ; it still leads 
502 



■■i:^'m^ 




603 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 505 

the laAvyers to the Palais de Justice, the accused to the 
prison of the Conciergerie, the suspected to the Prefecture 
of Police, and the Peers of France to the Luxembourg. At 
one time, when the whole of Paris lived by wit ; when con- 
versation was composed of tragedy, comedy, eloquence, and 
satire ; when Voltaire domineered over the Eighteenth Cen- 
turj^ from the boards of his Com^die Frangaise ; when the 
Cafe Procope was a sort of Chamber of Deputies, whose de- 
crees were without appeal, the Pont JSTeuf was even more 
frequented than it is now. At certain hours, you might have 
seen passing and repassing, in these paths of philosophy and 
rebellion, all the great minds which have overturned or re- 
stored the world. At one time or another, or perhaps all at 
once, you might see Diderot, D'Alembert, Frt^ron, Condorcet, 
Piron, Beaumarchais, the whole Encyclopaedia marching by, 
with matches lighted and standards unfurled, without speak- 
ing of the great poet, Gilbert, who was carried from the Caff^ 
Procope to the hospital. Now, thanks to the two chambers, 
thanks to the periodical press, thanks to the liberty, which 
has penetrated into minds and manners, there are no longer 
known in Paris, such assemblies of intelligent minds at 
every hour of the night and day, such cafe rebels, such 
revolutions carried on behind the scenes, such pit con- 
spiracies." 

On Saturday, May 31st, 1578, Henry III., accompanied 
by his mother, Catharine de Medicis, and his wife, Louise 
of Lorraine, laid the first stone of the bridge, with great 
pomp and ceremony. The King had just seen his favorites, 
Mauguiron and Quclus, killed in a duel, and his grief was 
so great that he could not control his countenance durino- 
the ceremony. The bridge was not finished, however, until 
1604, in the reign of Henry IV. It consists of two parts, 
the middle portion being formed of the Island, and is two 
hundred and fifty-two yards long and twenty-five yards 



506 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

wide. It is built of stone, with massive piers and arches, 
and is provided with slight recesses, with stone seats for 
wearj passengers at each pier. In 1853, the footway was 
lowered, and the bridge almost rebuilt. 

Sit with me on one of the stone benches, where the north 
section of the bridge joins the island. This firm roadway 
was once a narrow canal, separating the lower point of the 
Cit^ from the rest. The portion thus cut off formed the lie 
aux Vaches, which was often used as a place of torment. 
The good Christians of the Middle Ages roasted the poor 
Jews here without mercy, and the islet came to be known 
as the lie aux Juifs. It is a pretty place now, covered with 
green trees and ornamented with a music* garden, and you 
would hardly believe that it witnessed the dark tragedies of 
those darker days. The darkest of all took place here on 
the 11th of March, 1314. Philippe the Fair was a good 
Christian, no doubt, but he never forgot or forgave an in- 
jury, and when the Templars sided against him in his quar- 
rel with Pope Boniface VIII., he swore a mighty oath that 
their hostility to him should prove their ruin. With great 
cunning, he got his tool, the Archbishop of Bordeaux, 
elected Pope, and thus secured the aid and countenance of 
the Church for his infamous scheme. Then, by a course of 
hypocrisy and trickery, he enticed the principal Templars 
of France to Paris, where they were suddenl}^ arrested and 
imprisoned by his order. At the same time, all their 
possessions throughout France were seized by the King. 
He imprisoned some of the knights, tortured others, and 
burned the rest, and at length sent the Grand Master, 
Jacques de Molay, and the Grand Prior of France, Guy 
Dauphin of Auvergne to die at the stake on the " Jews' 
Island," on the 11th of March, lol-l. These two heroes had 
faced death too often to dread it now, and had borne their 
persecutions too bravely to shink from the fierce martyrdom 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 507 

that awaited them here, and they died with a firmness 
worthy of men innocent of the charges brought against 
them. You will see De Molay's portrait in the " Crusader's 
Hall" at Versailles — a grave, thoughtful face, manly and 
honest, and yet as sad as if there hung over him a presenti- 
ment of his dreadful fate. Doubtless the time had come 
when his Order was no longer needed in Christendom, and 
its extinction was no doubt necessary ; but nothing save a 
demoniacal revenge could have prompted the method by 
which the work was done. 

Sitting here with the busy crowd hurrying by me, and the 
roar of the great city all around me, I lose myself in reverie, 
and go wandering back to the day when the river was 
thronged with boats, and the banks were black with specta- 
tors ; when the little island was filled with men-at-arms, and 
the bright flames hissed fiercely around the soldier-monks. 
I hear the hoarse tones of the death bell sounding high 
above the silent crowd, and clearer than the wailing Miserere 
of the priests, I hear De Molay bidding his brother and 
comrade be of good cheer, for the gates of the Father's house 
are opening on his sight. I see no pain-wracked, fire- 
blackened countenance in those terrible flames, but shining 
there is the same brave, sweet face that looked down on me 
so earnestly from the walls of Yersailles. Then when the 
flames and the smoke have hidden all from my view — I start 
up, to find myself five centuries removed from that dreadful 
day, and to see the sunlight falling lovingly over the bronze 
statue of that other hero-martyr, Henry of Navarre. 

This statue has an interesting history connected with it. 
Marie de Mddicis was anxious to gratify her father Cosmo II., 
Grand Duke of Tuscany, by erecting an equestrian statue of 
him in Paris. He had promised to provide the statue if she 
would secure its erection in the city, and accordingly sent 
the horse first. It was wrecked on the coast of Normandy, 



508 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

and remained at the bottom of the sea for an entire year. It 
was at length recovered, and restored at great expense, and 
sent to Paris, where it arrived in 1614. It was then placed 
on a marble pedestal in its present location, but for many 
years remained without a rider. After the assassination of 
King Henry IV., his widow, (Marie de Medicis) wishing, 
doubtless, to ward off the suspicion which many entertained 
of her complicity in the murder, caused a bronzed statue of 
King Henry to be made and placed on the horse, so that 
the Florentine Duke never bestrode his famous steed. It is 
a wonderful face, simply because it is a truthful portrait, and 
it wears the same expression that must have shone in the 
living features when the good king sent bread over the 
walls of Paris to its rebellious but starving people. 

My romance is suddenly destroyed by a most unearthly 
discord, and looking around me I see people with their 
hands clapped over their ears hurrying across the bridge at 
full speed. The cause of the commotion is a street singer, 
a woman whose shrill notes are worse than the cracked 
guitar, with which she accompanies herself To my great 
relief; she passes on, and I hear her faintly in the distance 
setting some more of these music-loving people wild. 

It is early morning, and the crowds are thick on all the 
bridges, especially on this one. Here is the street astron- 
omer, setting up his telescope near the statue of the Bernois. 
Stop your carriage here, my grave Academician, and talk 
with this learned professor, and see how little you really 
know of the science of which you claim to be so bright a 
light. Talk of theories, this man has his head full of them, 
and as for practice, why he wouldn't give his telescope for 
twenty of the big instruments that are guarded with so 
much care in the Imperial Observatory. 

Close by used to stand, and may stand yet, the famous dog 
doctor Bisson. He was always accompanied by his wife, a 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 509 

hideous old hag — and he was far from being a beauty him- 
self. He stood at her side with his coat off, and a short pipe 
in his mouth, while she occupied the post of honor, a curious 
chair, the lower part of which constituted a box in which 
dogs were placed. A short stick was attached to the chair 
and ornamented with a sign bearing this curious inscription, 
which the reader may translate to his own satisfaction — 
" Bisson et sa femme tond les chiens — coupe la queue aux 
chats — et va-t-en ville." Bisson made a good living, it is 
said, by his practice amongst dogs and cats. His charges 
were not moderate, but pets of this kind are as much valued 
as children in Paris — and it would seem more so — and must 
not die. If death did wind up the case, the honest doctor 
bore all the funeral expenses. The funeral, it may be re- 
marked, consisted in skinning the dog and selling his hide 
and paws. The business on the Pont Neuf, however, was 
confined to cutting the hair of dogs and cats into any desired 
shape, and this work was generally performed by madame, 
who held the dog between her knees, and operated with a 
pair of long shears. 

Almost all the little trades may be seen on or around the 
bridge. Here is the roast-chestnut-man, with his crowd of 
gamins ; the man who sells gold chains for a mere song ; the 
Turk with his dates and sweetmeats; the walking skeleton 
with a death's head face, who carries dead rats on a long: 
pole, and sells poison warranted to kill insects and vermin as 
well ; the woman who sells t03^-whirligigs, and makes you 
wish you were able to take a sketch of her face; the melo- 
dramatic villain who sells the " last sensations," in the shape 
of criminal reports; the chicken fanciers; the coco mer- 
chants; the travelling tinkers, the Cologne- water man, wlio 
sells you the genuine Farina for less than the ingredients 
cost old Jean Marie; persons of every grade of this trafic 
either hang around the bridge or perambulate it from morn- 



610 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

ing till night. You see all Paris here, higli and low, rich and 
poor. That poor fellow who crouches so despondingly in 
that corner has had no work for many a day, and he is 
hovering between hunger and the river. To-night, when the 
swift waters are darker than the skies above them, he may 
end his sorrows in their bosom. So many have found it but 
a step from the Pont ISTeuf to the unseen land ! When the 
weeping king laid the first stone, the people of Paris said 
the bridge should be called the " Bridge of Tears." A light 
jest then, a scoff at their womanly king ; but a grave reality 
since. You trip lightly over it now, ! maiden, fresh in 
youth and hope, but some day you will find, as so many 
others before you, that the old stone parapet on which you 
rest your weary head, as you pause for a moment's rest, is wet 
with your tears. 



XXXII. 
MONEY CENTRES. 



I. 



THE MINT. 



The currency of the Empire is entirely of gold, silver, 
and copper, the only paper money in circulation being the 
notes issued by the Bank of France. There are mints in 




The Mint. 



several of the large cities of France, but the principal estab 
lishraent of this kind is located at Paris, and is known as the 
Hotel des Monnaies. Admission to the Museum can be had 
daily, but the entrance to the coining department is restricted 



.tU 



512 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

to visitors provided with permits from the President of the 
Commission of Coins and Medals. The Hotel des Monnaies 
is a handsome building in the classical style, erected in 1775, 
and situated on the Quai Conti (south bank of the river), 
near the Pont Neuf. The front is three hundred and eighty- 
two feet long. 

The Museum is situated on the ground floor, and contains 
the largest and richest collection of the coins and medals of 
all countries to be found in Europe. Here you may see all 
the coins and medals that have been struck in France since 
the days of Charlemagne. Here you will also see the private 
casket of Napoleon I., with all the medals struck in his 
honor, and also a complete collection»,'of the medals struck in 
France during the First Empire, witli their respective dies. 

The coining process is very similar to that practised at the 
United States Mint. The metal is first cast into ingots, and 
then rolled out into bars uniform in thickness. Eound 
blanks of the requisite size and weight are then punched from 
the bars, after which they are milled and stamped with the 
proper impression. 

All the jewelry manufactured in Paris is brought here for 
the purpose of being tested, and is stamped with the mark 
of the Mint if found of the proper fineness. This is a great 
protection to purchasers, as it ensures the genuineness of the 
article purchased. 



II. 

THE BANK OF FEANCE. 

The Banque de France^ in the Eue de la Vrilliere, occupies 
the old hotel of the Duke de la Vrilliere, and at the outbreak 
of the French Ee volution was the mansion of the beautiful 
and unfortunate Princesse de Lamballe. Several of the 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



513 



rooms retain their original decorations, bnt the building lias 
been much enlarged and improved since 1855. 

This establishment was founded in 1803, and since 1848, 
is the onl_y bank (according to the sense of the word in this 
country) in France. It alone has the right to issue notes, 
and these are made legal-tenders. It has branches in all the 
large towns, and in Algeria. Its business may be divided as 
follows: Bill discounting; making loans upon approved 
securities, such as bullion, stocks, etc. ; the safe-keeping of 




Bank of France. 



valuables ; the issuing of bank-notes. The capital of the 

bank is 182,500,000 francs, and its circulation 800,000,000 

francs. It generally has about 300,000,000 francs in bullion 

in its vaults, but this amount varies very much from year to 

year. The vaults are extensive, are very strong, and are 

securely guarded, and, it is said, can be flooded in case of 

fire. The offices are magnificent, the directors' room being 

one of the handsomest in the city. The public rooms are 
33 



514 



PAKIS BY SUXLTGIIT AND GASLIGHT. 



alwaj's open to all comers, and if you are acquainted with 
one of the higher of&cials you may succeed in gaining access 
to the private apartments. 

HI. 

THE BOURSE 

The great money and stock Exchange of the City is the 
Bourse^ situated in the centre of the Place de la Bourse. It is 
an imposing edifice, a parallelogram in shape, surrounded by 




The Bourse. 

a colonnade of sixty-six Corinthian pillars, and is the best 
specimen of classical architecture in Paris. It is two hundred 
and twelve feet long, one hundred and twenty-six broad, and 
fifty- seven high. 

When the ancient Parloir de Bourgeois went down, there 
'vas no meeting place in the city for merchants, and the re- 
sult was that business in stocks and money was transacted 
entirely at tlie offices of the brokers which were located 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 515 

principally in the Rue Quincampois. The want of a central 
exchange was sorely felt, and a place of meeting was organ- 
ized in the Hotel Mazarin, famous as the residence of Law, 
the great speculator. During the Revolution the Exchange 
was removed to the Church of the Petits Peres ; but when 
Napoleon became Emperor he determined to provide the 
city with a Bourse worthy of the business of Paris. Accord- 
ingly he had the old Convent of the Filles de Saint Thomas 
demolished, and the present Exchange begun. The founda- 
tions were laid in 1808, but the edifice was not completed 
until 1826. The exterior is very fine. A broad flight of 
steps at each end leads to the entrance doors, and the four 
corners of the building are ornamented with statues of Com- 
merce, Commercial Law, Industry, and Agriculture. The 
Courts of Commerce formerly sat in this building, but have 
been removed recently to the splendid edifice opposite the 
Palace of Justice. 

The interior contains a number of offices, and an immense 
hall for the transaction of business. The latter is hand- 
somely decorated, and contains some fine frescoes. In the 
centre is a circular space enclosed with an iron railing. It 
is called La Corheille, and around it the brokers collect to 
exchange bargains. At the east end of the hall is another 
railed space, called the Parquet. It is devoted exclusively 
to the stock-brokers {Agents de Change). These are sixty in 
number, and are appointed by the Government. The hall 
is surrounded by a wide gallery, from which spectators, upon 
the payment of a fee, may look down upon the transactions 
below, and truly it is a sight worth witnessing. 

Business opens at one o'clock P. M., and the huge hall is 
filled with a noisy, excited crowd, all buying and selling 
stocks of various kinds. How they yell, and scream, and 
gesticulate. With what feverish eagerness, or nervous dread 
do they listen to the various quotations. The slightest rise 



516 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



maj make this man's fortune, or the slightest depreciation 
may ruin his neighbor. You see here much the same sights 
that are witnessed in "Wall Street ; the same frenzy, the same 
recklessness, the same haste to be rich without labor, and at 
once ; the same instantaneous accumulation of riches, and 
the sapie sudden and overwhelming disaster and ruin. Shut 
your ears and look down into the frenzied pit from your 






li, ir 





lf'V''5t(_4v 





Interior of the Bourse. 



lofty gallery, and you may well imagine yourself in the 
Gold Room in New York, in so far as the men themselves 
are concerned. The sale of stocks is over at three o'clock, 
but other commercial transactions are carried on until five. 
Women are not admitted during business hours. The fair 
sex once came here in such numbers, and interfered so much 
with the transactions, that it was agreed to exclude them en- 
tirely. They were extensive gamblers in stocks, and were 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 517 

hy no means very careful in fulfilling their contracts when 
it was to their disadvantage to do so. Now they carry on 
their operations in the square in front of the railings, where 
the irregular or Curbstone Brokers (Courtiers Marrons) con- 
gregate. These outside transactions are governed by no 
fixed laws, and, as in our own country, he who engages in 
them must be sure of his man. 

The number of brokers being limited, one may always 
find numerous bidders for his business upon his retirement. 
As much as a million francs has been paid for the succession 
to a brokerage. 



XXXIII. 
PARISIAN SPORTS. 

Of course, in a city so devoted to pleasure, it is to be ex- 
pected that a decided interest should be felt in the sports of 
which other communities are so fond. First among these 
are the races, which occupy no small share of the popular 
attention. 

The whole system is placed in the hands of the Jockey 
Club, which was organized in 1833, for the purpose of ren- 
dering horse-racing popular, and to induce the Government 
to increase the value of the prizes. The headquarters of 
the Club are in the Rue Scribe. A committee, consisting of 
fifteen original and fifteen new members, is charged with the 
entire management of all matters concerning the races. This 
committee nominates three commissioners every year, who 
are the managers and umpires of the races. The prizes of 
the Club are all reserved for pure-blooded horses born and 
raised in France ; and in 1866 they amounted to four hun- 
dred and twenty-four thousand francs. The laws of the Club 
form the basis of the code which governs all the other 
racing Societies in France. 

.The Paris races are held at the Longchamp Course, situ- 
ated, as has been described in another chapter, at the ex- 
tremity of the Bois de Boulogne. There are three meetings 
every year. The Spring meeting takes place in April, the 
Summer meeting about the last of May or first of June, and 
the Autumn meeting in September or October. Each meet- 
ing lasts six days, and attracts immense crowds. At the 
518 




519 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 521 

Spring meeting the Empress offers a prize of fifteen thou- 
sand francs, and the Emperor one of ten thousand francs; 
but all the rest are furnished by the Jockey Club out of its 
own funds. At the Autumn meeting the Emperor's prize is 
twenty thousand francs, and the Prince Imperial's prize the 
same amount. At the Summer meeting, the grand Paris 
prize is contested for. It consists of an object of art, given 
by the Emperor, and one hundred thousand francs in cash, 
given, one-half by the City of Paris and the other half by 
the great railway companies. Any horse in the world may 
run for this prize, and there are usually several foreign 
animals present to contest the palm with the native steeds. 
Several other prizes are given on this occasion by the City 
and the Emperor, for which foreign horses are allowed to 
compete. 

The assemblage at the Longchamp Eaces is very brilliant. 
Long before the appointed hour a dense throng pours out 
from the city, through the Bois de Boulogne, some on foot, 
some on horseback, and the rest in vehicles of every descrip- 
tion. The prince and the peasant mingle together in their 
haste to reach the course, and sometimes the Imperial family 
whirl b}' the rest of the throng in the state carriage, throw- 
ing the dust far behind them. Arrived at the course, the 
visitors separate ; the more favored seek the handsome stands 
where seats are reserved for them, and " the dear people" find 
places on the grounds around the course. A perfect Babel 
of voices is heard on all sides, and when the horses are 
brought out they are greeted with applause according to 
their popularity. The utmost excitement prevails. Bets are 
exchanged rapidly. All true Frenchmen are eager for the 
success of the horses native to their country, and few bets are 
made on the foreign steeds except in the grand stands. The 
result is hailed with noisy delight by the successful parties, 
and with sarcastic nonchalance by the losers. Both enjoy 



522 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

the sport, however, and the latter trust to time and chance 
to make good their losses. 

Other races have been organized at Versailles, Fontaine- 
bleau, Yincennes, and Porchefontaine, but the great national 
course is at Chantillj, a few miles distant from the city by 
the Northern Eailway. The races here last May were of 
unusual interest. A correspondent of one of the London 
newspapers, says of them, writing from Paris, on the 23d of 
May: 

"Spite of the elections, with between three and four hun- 
dred thousand votes to be recorded in the Paris circumscrip- 
tions alone, Paris, at nine o'clock this morning, presented 
nothing unusual in appearance save a stream of vehicles and 
pedestrians proceeding in a northeasterly direction to the 
station of the Chemin de Per du Nord, where special trains 
bound for Chantilly were in readiness. Indeed, with a cer- 
tain class of Parisians the race for the French Derby, the 
Prix du Jockey Club, was a far more interesting event than 
the electoral contest between the Government and the Liberal 
party which has to be fought out to-day and to-morrow. 
The early morning was somewhat unpromising, but as noon 
approached, the sun shone brilliantly, and the hour's run to 
Chantilly, with the latter part of the journey through the 
forest, was pleasant enough. All Chantilly seemed to have 
turned out to welcome its visitors, and, as usual, all the beg- 
gars from the surrounding districts waylaid them at the 
entrance to the little wood, the footway through which leads 
directly on to the course. On entering the betting-ring, 
behind the ' tribunes,' we find groups of early comers break- 
fasting leisurely under the trees. The betting-men are busy 
preparing their lists, which they fix against the trunks of the 
young oaks, or mount upon stafl's stuck firmly in the ground; 
in all cases taking care to select the most shady places. Ere 
long, the ring is crowded, and speculation is at its height. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 523 

Hundred-franc notes fly about, and the chink of Napoleons 
is incessantly heard. Jockeys are weighed and horses 
saddled, and the bell rings for the first race. The stands are 
crowded, and the lawn in front is pretty nearly blocked. 
Here one may study the most remarkable toilettes. The 
favorite colors seem to be pale blue, pale green, lavender, 
pink, pearl gray, and maize color, bordered with deep white 
lace or bound with satin or velvet of some contrasting shade. 
It is in the hat alone, with its pyramid of feathers, its large 
bouquets of flowers, bands of velvet, and puffs of lace that 
one recognizes the extravagance of the day. Most of the 
ladies have small bouquets of flowers at the waist, just as 
most of the well-dressed men sport the orthodox rose or pink 
in their button-holes. Immediately in front of the stands are 
the ' grandes ecuries ' of the Chateau of Chantilly, externally 
the most magnificent stables in the world, with their lofty 
entrances carved all over with prancing horses, stags brought 
to bay, and wild boars fleshing their tusks on too daring- 
hounds ; they have accommodation for no less than 'one 
hundred and seventy-two horses. To the right, on a slight 
eminence and surrounded by magnificent gardens, inter- 
spersed with broad sheets of water, is the Chateau itself; all 
the rest of the race-course is hemmed in by tall trees, between 
which one has glimpses of the red tiled roofs of the houses 
of the town. The bell rings, the course is cleared, a dense 
crowd is packed on the opposite side to the tribunes, where 
all the more novel speculations which our French neighbors 
have imported into horse-racing are in full force. There are 
the poules, the Paris mutuels, and Paris generals, with their 
bureaus formed of old diligences newly painted and furbished 
up, each having some ten or twelve wire-gratings, through 
which one may thrust two, five, ten, or twenty francs, and 
receive a bit of colored card-board in exchange. One noticed 
that at the twenty-franc gratings it was always some stylish 



524 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

female who issued tlie billets. The crowding, elbowing, 
shouting, and touting in the immediate vicinity of these vehi- 
cles is equal to anything on the Epsom course on the Derby 
day." 

Boating is very popular with the Parisians. There are 
two fine Eowing Clubs in the city, one of which is composed 
of the most aristocratic and wealthy young men of the place. 
Its headquarters are at Asnieres, a small town on the Seine, 
about five miles from Paris. 

The club has here a boat-house, provided with a restau- 
rant, billiard-room, etc. Nearly all the regattas and boating 
matches take place at Asnieres. The river here is straight 
and free from obstructions, and flows through a country re- 
markable for its beautiful scenery. Almost every Sunday 
in the summer season boat-races draw crowds from the city, 
and the restaurants of Asnieres do a thriving business. 



te 




625 



X X X I y. 

LIBRARIES. 

The principal library of Paris is the BihliotMque I'm'peTiale^ 
in the Rue Eichelieu, opposite the Place Luvois. It is also 
the largest and most complete collection in the world, pos- 
sessing 1,500,000 volumes of printed books, 150,000 manu- 
scripts, 300,000 engravings, and 100,000 maps and charts. 
It occupies the immense palace which was once the residence 
of the wily Minister, Cardinal Mazarin. The building is 
at present undergoing extensive repairs, so that it is im- 
possible to tell what the arrangement will be when these are 
completed. 

It was the pride of the French Kings, as far back as the days 
of Charlemagne, to collect a few manuscript volumes, chiefly 
of chronicles and the Scriptures. Charles V. had a collection 
of 950 volumes, which he placed for safe keeping in the old 
Castle of the Louvre. It was scattered after his death, but 
a catalogue of it still remains. His successors busied them- 
selves in collecting a royal library, which at the death of 
Louis XV., numbered 100,000 volumes, and was located in 
its present quarters. It narrowly escaped destruction during 
the Revolution, but once saved, was greatly enlarged and 
enriched by additions from the collections of the suppressed 
convents and monasteries. At present the sum of 125,000 
francs per annum is expended in purchases of books, and 
150,000 francs in salaries. 

The buildings contain numerous lecture-rooms, and the 
residences of the o£&cials. The reading-room is a magnificent 

527 



628 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

and pleasantly arranged ball, containing the library of ref- 
erence, and numerous tables and otber conveniences for 
students. It is bright and cheerful in appearance, and the 
officials are courteous and accommodating. 

The collection of printed hooks occupies a number of halls. 
It is in process of methodical arrangement, but at present the 
sj^stem of consulting the works is very imperfect. 

The Manuscripts occupy several rooms in the great gallery 
of the Mazarin Palace, and are accessible to students upon 
certain simple conditions. In the halls containing them 
may also be seen "a collection of elaborate bindings, and 
book-covers in ivory, or diptychs ; of books decorated with 
precious stones and gold and silver; of ancient, illuminated, 
oriental manuscripts, of autographs of royal personages, 
of celebrated political and literary characters, and two 
curious ivory tablets, on which are scratched the espenses 
incurred by Philippe le Bel, with his itineraries, in 1301-2. 
Here also is preserved a curious Chinese inscription, said to 
date from A. D., 781, and brought from Si-an-fou, in China, 
relative to the progress of certain Sjn'iac Chinese mission- 
aries who had gone there during the Seventh and Eighth 
Centuries." 

The Maj'is and Charts occupy the long gallery adjoining 
and opening into the Manuscript rooms. The collection is 
very complete, especially in the maps and pilot charts of 
the Middle Ages. 

The Collection of Antiquities is divided into two parts — the 
Ancient Marbles and Inscriptions, now closed to the public, 
and the Cabinet of Medals and Antiquities. The former 
contains, amongst other objects, the celeb]"ated Zodiac of 
Denderah. The latter is a magnificent collection of ancient 
cameos, medals and coins, bronzes, Etruscan vases, mediae- 
val ivories and glass. There are several hundred thousand 
specimens. 




34 



52 ii 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 531 

Attached to the Imperial Library is the School of Oriental 
Languages, where courses of lectures are given every year 
on the most important languages of the East by the first 
Orientalists in Europe. 

There are numerous public libraries in the city. The 
most prominent are those of the Arsenal, Artillerie, Con- 
servatoire des Arts et Metiers, Medical School, Sainte-Gene- 
vi^ve. Institute, Invalides, Jardin des Plantes, Louvre, Maz- 
arine, Sorbonne, and Hotel de Ville. The Ministries, the 
Senate, the Corps L^gislatif, the Observatory, and several 
other Government establishments are provided with large 
and valuable libraries, not open to the public. The library 
of Sainte-Genevi^ve is the most frequented, being in the 
heart of the Latin Quarter. 



XXXT. 
THE PALAIS DE JUSTICE. 

The Palace of Justice is the name applied to the immense 
range of buildings in the old Cite^ extending entirely across 
the island, and including the palace proper, the Sainte 
Chapelle, the Conciergerie and the Salle des Pas Perdus. It 




Palace of Justice. 

is the seat of many of the principal Courts of the City, and 
is one of the most interesting places in Paris. A Eoman 
Castle formerly stood on this site, and the ancient palace was 
the official residence of the Kings of France until the reign 
of Francis I. Though the monarchs did not always dwell 
.532 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 533 

here, they comtnonly repaired to it upon State occasions, 
and it was regarded by all the kingdom as the seat of the 
royal authorit3^ Since the kings left it, it has been used as 
a Parliament House, Court House, and Prison. The greater 
portion of the pi'esent building is modern. The vaults under 
the Salle des Pas Perdus, the towers on the qua}^, the Con- 
ciergerie and the Sainte Chapelle are all that remain of the 
original edifice. Frequent fires and extensive restorations 
have changed the rest. 

On the side of the quay is a gloomy front with four tall 
towers. That at tiie corner of the Boulevard is the ancient 
Tour de VHorloge^ with a splendid clock dial. The tower is 
original, but the dial was erected in 1858, in imitation of the 
original which was placed there in 1585. West of the clock 
tower are three gloomy, sharp pointed turrets. The first is 
called the Tour de Monlgoinery and the next the Tour de 
Csesar. Between them is the entrance to the Conciergerie, 
noted as the door out of which so many of the victims of the 
Revolution passed on their way to the guillotine. The third 
turret, the Toiir Bombee is placed at a greater distance below, 
and together with the buildings lying between it and the 
Tour de Csesar formg a part of the Conciergerie. 

The eastern front of the building is very fine, and is broken 
in the centre by a vast court-yard at the bottom of which is 
a broad, handsome stairway leading to the main entrance. 
The Sainte Chapelle rises to the left of the porch and back 
of the side range. 

Passing up the stairs you enter a vast ante-hall. In front 
of you is the stairway leading to the Imperial Court, and on 
your right, at the end of the hall, is the entrance to the Salk 
des Pas Perdus. This is a vast hall serving now as an ante- 
chamber to the courts of the building. It occupies the site 
of the great hall of the palace of Saint Louis which was used 
for State ceremonials and for public festivities. The origi- 



534 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

nal hall is admirably described in the opening chapters of 
Victor Hugo's " Notre Dame de Parish'' It was burned in 
1618, and it is said that the fire was occasioned by burning 
the great mass of documents connected with the trial of 
Ravaillac, the assassin of Henry lY., and there is reason to 
believe that the conflagration was brought about intention- 
ally in order to destroy all possible proof of the complicity 
of Marie de Medicis in the murder of her husband. The 
present hall was built a few years afterwards by Jacques 
Desbrosses. It is two hundred and thirty-five feet long and 
eighty-eight feet wide. On one side is a monument of 
Malesherbes the defender of Louis XVI. during his trial. 

You will generally find , the hall full of barristers {avocats) 
practising in the various courts which open into it. They 
are dressed in long gowns and bands and a queer shaped cap, 
and are usually surrounded with numbers of clients. Along 
the hall are the tables of public writers, whose services are 
always in demand by those who cannot read or write. 

The principal Court opening into the hall is the great 
Court of Appeal [Coiir de Cassation). It occupies the cham- 
ber in which the old Parliaments of Paris sat, and which was 
also occupied by the Lits de Justice^ and later still by the 
Revolutionar}?- Tribunal, It was in this chamber that Marie 
Antoinette, Madame Elizabeth, and the Girondins were tried 
and condemned. Louis XVI. was tried before the Conven- 
tion in the Convent of the Feuillants. The hall was com- 
pletely modernized in 1810, and retains nothing of its an- 
cient appearance. 

The Conciergerie was the ancient prison of the palace, and 
is still used as a place of temporary confinement for persons 
awaiting trial. Tt derives its chief interest from the tragic 
scenes which took place in it during the Revolution. Most 
of the prisoners destined for the guillotine were confined here 
previous to their execution, and on the terrible Second of 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



535 



September 1792, two hundred and eighty-eiglit prisoners 
were massacred here by the mob. Marie Antoinette was 
brought here from the Temple on the 1st of August 1793, 
and imprisoned here until her execution on the 26th of Octo- 
ber of the same year. Bailly, Malesherbes, Madame Roland, 




The Conciergerie. 



Danton, and last of all Robespierre and his companions set 
out from these old towers to the scaffold. The present Em- 
peror was confined here in 1840, after the failure of his Bou- 
logne Expedition. 

Marie Antoinette was imprisoned in the present Sacristy 
of the chapel, and it was in the chapel itself that the Giron- 
dins held their memorable banquet on the night before their 
execution. The Queen's cell remained for a long time just 
as she left it, but Louis XYIII. had it transformed into an 
expiatory chapel. The crucifix on the altar is that before 
which the unhappy woman made her peace with Heaven. A 
sentinel placed behind a screen occupied the cell with the 



536 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

poor woman, and three or four armed men were always on 
duty in the passage without. It is a terribly gloomy place, 
and after seeing it you have a deeper admiration of the forti- 
tude with which the captive bore her imprisonment. 

The Sainte Ghapelle or Holy Chapel, is included within the 
Palace of Justice, and at present forms the private chapel of 
the Municipality of Paris. It was begun in 1245, and finished 
in 1248, and cost 800,000 francs. It was erected by Saint 
Louis, to contain the thorns of the Saviour's Crown and the 
wood of the True Cross which were purchased by the pious 
king from the Emperor Baldwin for the sum of 2,000,000 
francs. Saint Louis was fully convinced that the relics were 
genuine, for besides paying this immense sum for them and 
building this costly casket to receive them, he conveyed them 
here with his own hands, walking barefoot through the streets 
of Paris. After his death, his heart was deposited here. His 
precious relics are now in the Treasury of Notre Dame. In 
1791 the chapel was made a club-house, and then a granary, 
' fter which it was used as a store-house for legal records. 
Louis Philippe determined to restore it, and the work is just 
completed. The restorations cost the sum of 2,000,000 
francs. 

The building is small, but is altogether the most beautiful 
specimen of Gothic Art in France. " It is in two stories, 
corresponding in level with the floors of the ancient palace, 
so that the lower chapel or crypt was for the servants and 
the upper, on a level with the royal apartments, for the 
royal family. The dimensions of the upper chapel are in- 
ternally one hundred and eight feet long, thirty-five feet 
wide, and sixty-five feet high; height of the spire from 
the ground, one hundred and forty feet. The exterior, 
though fine, does not give an idea of the magnificence of the 
interior, and the effect is much injured by the modern 
buildings around it. The spire has been rebuilt, and is a 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 537 

copy of that whicli was placed on the chapel in the Fifteenth 
Century. The west end, the balustrade and turrets, were 
altered to what we now see them in the reign of Charles 
VIII. There is a porch in two stories, and a rose window 
at the west end, and there was formerly a flight of forty -two 
steps leading to the upper chapel. The lower one or 
crypt is a. curious specimen of Gothic architecture, and was 
formerly painted over ; it has recently been gorgeously deco- 
rated, having formerly served as the parish church of this 
quarter of Paris. The floor is covered with tomb-stones, 
chiefly of its canons. Boileau, although he had severely 
satirised the canons of the Sainte Chapelle in his ' Lutrin,' 
was buried here until his remains were removed to Saint- 
Germain-des-Prds. The ascent to the upper chapel is by a 
narrow corkscrew staircase in one of the turrets, the effect 
on emerging from which into the gorgeous interior is strik- 
ing. The chapel consists of a lofty nave with an apse at 
the east end ; four wide windows on each side almost replace 
the walls, and seven narrower ones surround the apse. The 
windows are in beautifully painted glass, and the whole of 
the walls and the roof are covered with paintings and gild- 
ings, the floor is paved with colored tiles. The statues of 
the twelve Apostles affixed to the pillars are admirable 
specimens of the Thirteenth Century. The high altar and 
reliquary behind it are new, but are copies of the ancient 
ones. On each side of the nave is a recess which was occu- 
pied by the King and Queen and on the south a small hole 
may be remarked communicating with a room from which 
Louis XI., used to hear mass without fear of assassination.'' 
The rose windows and other stained glass work are very 
beautiful, and have always been considered master-pieces of 
their kind. That in the west end dates back to the reign of 
Charles VIII. The others are of the Thirteenth Century. 



XXXVI. 
PARISIAN JUSTICE. 

The Courts of Paris comprise a considerable number of 
establishments, each of which has jurisdiction over certain 
distinct causes or offences. This jurisdiction is confined to 
the city in the majority of instances, but in some extends 
over the entire Empire. The most interesting of all to a 
stranger is the great Central Criminal Court, or Cour d^Assis- 
ses, which holds its sessions in a chamber in the Palace of 
Justice. Respectably dressed persons are allowed to be 
present at the sittings of this tribunal, except in cases 
in which it is deemed best to conduct the proceedings 
privately. 

A writer in one of the English periodicals gives the follow- 
ing account of the manner in which trials are conducted in 
the French Courts. It is so truthful and so happily ex- 
pressed that I ask the readers attention to it. 

"A more striking and suggestive contrast than that be- 
tween the French and the English judicial tribunals it would 
be difficult to find, or one more clearly marking the striking 
difference in temperament and mode of thought between the 
two races. The forms of French legal procedure aid in 
giving a romantic character to the scenes which pass in the 
Palais de Justice. The Procureur Imperial, combining in 
himself the powers of public prosecutor, grand jury, and 
adviser of the bench, is an official quite unknown to Anglo- 
Saxon countries; for his office implies a great deal more 
than those of our attorneys and solicitors-general. At the 
538 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 539 

opening of criminal trials, tlie procurenr proceeds to read a 
long and minute narrative of the previous life, habits, and 
character of the accused, which has been collected with great 
care. He relates the career of the prisoner with a dramatic 
force worthy of a novelist, and seems as anxious to construct 
an interesting story as to produce a practical impression on 
the minds of the jury. The theatrical character of the scene 
is kept up by the French system of questioning the prisoner 
as well as the witnesses, hearing his statements, allowing 
him to interrogate the witnesses, or to explain away their 
evidence, and not very sternly checking him when he in- 
dulges in pathetic appeals, in untimely jokes, or energetic 
recriminations. The judge for his part makes remarks very 
freely, does not stick at a pun or a joke with the counsel, or 
even with the prisoner, and engages in altercations with 

both. 
******** 

" The smaller courts in the towns, where lighter every-day 
offences are tried, are usually the most interesting to the 
foreign visitor. These courts are usually situated either in 
the basement of the Palais de Justice, or in some obscure 
street. You are free to enter, and find yourself in a small, 
close, not sweet smelling room. You take up your position, 
standing, behind some railings — for spectators are seldom 
accorded the privilege of seats. At a square raised desk, 
ovci which appears the imperial escutcheon, is seated the 
presiding judge. He wears a long puffy gowm of silk, with 
a broad white cravat, while his head is adorned by a singular 
hat, large and square, broader at the top than at the bottom, 
and lined — as well as you can see — with some lace, not of 
the finest. On the judge's right is another smaller raised 
desk at right angles with that of the judge ; this is the place 
occupied by the procureur. Below the judge are tlie clerks, 
and in a semicircle in front of the desk sit the avocats, 



540 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

avouds and notaries — the barristers and attorneys. The 
prisoner is placed on a chair in a small enclosed space, his 
counsel sitting by him ; the jury is at the side seated on long 
narrow benches. There is a witness stand near the judge, as 
in England. 

"The judge takes his seat, the court is formally opened, 
and the witnesses and prisoners are called in. The first 
prisoner put into the dock is a pretty, lively, flashily-dressed, 
saucy-looking grisette. She takes her place with a little 
shrug of the shoulders, and a grimace, and looks about co- 
quettish ly. The judge eyes her sharply for a moment, and 
then asks what she is charged with. ' Mademoiselle, Mon- 
sieur le Juge, is charged with stealing a fifty-franc note from 
her most intimate and confidential friend.' Information as to 
Mademoiselle's antecedents and position is at once forth- 
coming. Mademoiselle's name is Adrienne Petitbouche : she 
trims bonnets for the great Madame Picot by day ; she flirts 
with her mignon Jacques by twilight ; she literally ' shakes 
a foot,' and a little body, too, every night at the Bal de la 
Terpsichore Divine — admission one franc. On the whole, 
barring her daily task, she has a very careless, merry, wicked, 
delirious life of it. Her money melts like snow in a furnace ; 
she often finds lerself minus the cash for a new dancing 
skirt, and unhappily, Jacques is too poor to supply it. She 
therefore quietly slips into her darling Philomene's room — 
opposite to her own, and quietly abstracts the fifty -franc note 
which Philomene has just received as her monthly wages, 
and has stowed away in her trunk. Philomene catches her 
coming out of the door, misses her fifty francs, and has dear 
Adrienne brought up before the court. 

" Philomene is the first witness, and skips to the witness- 
box brisk, prompt, and pert. Questioned indiscriminately 
by judge, jury, procureur, counsel, and prisoner, she answers 
smartly, with tosses of the head. She says she saw Madem- 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 541 

oiselle Adrienne coming out of the room ; her trunk was 
open ; on the floor near it was Mademoiselle Adrienne's new 
silver thimble. Here the prisoner breaks in : 

" ' Yes, the hussj borrowed it of me the day before yester- 
day.' 

" ' It's a lie ! I didn't ! You know I didn't !' 

'"Monsieur the Judge ' 

" Now, hush, hush, hush !' (from judge). 'Go on witness.' 

" ' The concierge saw her going into ray room just before.' 

" ' Aha, m'amie !' breaks in the judge, ' what do you say to 
that ?' 

" ' I went in there,' says the prisoner, shortly, ' because 1 
thought somebody was there. I heard a noise.' 

"Judge: 'Yes — a rustle of fifty-franc notes!' (Great 
laughter). 

" A witness deposes that, next day, Mademoiselle Adrienne 
bought a handsome new bonnet. 

" ' And where, m'amie,' said the judge, ' did you get all the 
money for that ?' 

" ' One has friends.' 

" ' Come, come, where did j^ou get it ?' 

" ' Parbleu ! it was Jacques.' 

" ' And who, pray, is Jacques?' 

" ' My Jacques — my friend, monsieur.' 

" ' Oh, your lover, n'est-ce pas ?' 

" ' Ah, well, yes, Monsieur the Judge !' 

" ' And so Jacques is rich, is he ?' 

" ' No, but he gave it to me.' 

" ' Has his rich aunt just died ?' (General amusement). 

"For all her bright eyes and pretty little shrugs, poc 
Adrienne is clearly guilty. The judge, after stating the fact, 
proceeds to sentence her, somewhat after this manner: 

'' ' Now, ma jolie petite fille, I must send you to lodgings 
where fine bonnets are wholly needless ; you must go to the 



542 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

workhouse for one little month. You won't want any of 
Jacques's money for that. And I warn you not to mind 
whatever noises you may hear, or run after them ; for you 
see what a position you are in from being too anxious about 
noises in your neighbor's room.' 

" With this sally the trial ends, and the proceedings are 
concluded in the pleasantest of humors. Mademoiselle trips, 
with another shrug, out of the box, gives the disconsolate 
Jacques, who is by, a hearty kiss, bobs her head saucily at 
the judge, and surrenders herself gracefully to her fate, 

"But the scenes which take place in the French courts are 
as various as the traits and impulses of the French themselves 
— only having this in common, that they are seldom without 
a dramatic tinge. Some months ago the following incident 
took place in one of the smaller Paris police-courts. A 
young man — one Mignoneau — was brought before the judge, 
accused of having received some money from a veteran, b}'' 
name Monsieur Leger, on false pretences. The trial began, 
and the injured gentleman was called upon to take the wit- 
ness-stand. A robust, hale old man forthwith separated him- 
self from the crowd of spectators, advanced promptly to the 
•stand, made an exceedingly courtly bow to Monsieur the 
Judge, and awaited the interrogatory. His testimony, deliv- 
ered in a clear voice and with great frankness, was worth 
noting. 

" ' What is your age ?' sharply demands the judge. 

"'Ninety-eight and a half years,' replies the old man, 
slowly and emphatically. 

" ' You express yourself so distinctly, you seem so healthy, 
your color is so fresh, your eyes are so bright, and your step 
is so firm, that I must have misunderstood you.' 

" ' No. What I say is accurate. Ootmt and see. I was 
born in May, 1770 ; a year and a half, Monsieur le Judge, 
will complete my century.' 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 543 

" ' What is your occupation ?' 

" ' I was formerly valet to Monsieur Saint Prix, comedian 
to the king, at the Theatre de la Nation.' 

" ' You were then very young. You must have served 
others since?' 

" Leger, drawing himself up proudly : 

" ' Never, monsieur. M. Saint Prix left me enough to live 
on. When a man has had such a master, he does not need a 
second.' 

" 'Now, as to this case. Do you recognize the young man 
in the dock ?' 

" ' I recollect, him, yes. He did an act which was not at 
all delicate. He pretended he had come from my marble 
cutter, and claimed thirty francs for a railing round my wife's 
tomb.' 

"'Your wife?' 

" ' I had the misfortune to lose her, monsieur, a few months 
since.' 

" ' She was doubtless much younger than yourself? 

" ' Yery little. Monsieur the Judge ; only fifteen months. 
I used to say to her, wait a little for me, and we will go 
together. But she wearied of the world before me.' 

" ' You paid the young man what he demanded ?' 

" ' Yes ; but I did not bring him here. I hope you will 
not punish him too severely. Perhaps he will turn from his 
wicked ways, and give me back my money. Such a thing 
has happened within my own knowledge. M. Saint Prix had 
a cook who stole from him ; he pardoned her, and she became 
honest.' " 



XXXVII. 
THE MUNICIPAL GOVERNMENT. 
• I. 

THE PREFECTUEE OF THE SEINE. 

The chief officer of the city is the Mayor of Paris, or as he 
is at present called, the Prefect of the Seine. He is appointed 
by the Emperor, and holds his ofS.ce during the pleasure of 
the Sovereign, His authority extends not only over the 
city, but over the entire Department of the Seine. He is 
assisted by a Municipal Corps, or Council, consisting of sixty- 
eight members, all nominated by the Emperor. Sixty of 
these r<»present the city, and the others the rest of the De- 
partment. " Under the Prefecture of the Seine stand the 
following administrations : The central mairie, domains of 
the city, vestry-boards, funerals and concessions of burying- 
ground, local taxes and contributions, budgets and accounts, 
public weights and municipal fees, streets and sewers, plans, 
management and sale of immovable property, waters, prom- 
enades, plantations, unhealthy apartments, public health, 
sweeping, drainage, architectural services for the city, monu 
ments, public assistance, town dues, city works fund, depart- 
mental council for public instruction." The Prefecture is 
located at the Hotel de Yille. 

The city is subdivided into Arrondissements, in each of 
which is located a Mairie. or Mayor's office. Some of these 
are very handsome structures. They contain all the offices 
544 




645 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 547 

connected with administration of their respective quarters, 
All marriages are celebrated at these establishments by the 
Mayor of the Arrondissement. The law requires the acknowl- 
edgment of the civil contract, after which the parties may 
seek the services of the Church. All births and deaths are 
registered at the mayoralties, and the Juges de Paix hold 
their tribunals there. 



II. 

THE POLICE. 

The Pfefect of Police shares the government of the city 
of Paris with the Prefect of the Seine. The former may be 
called the Criminal-chief and the latter the Civil-chief of the 
Municipal Government. His headquarters are located in the 
western part of the Palace of Justice, and he is "charged 
with keeping public order with regard to morals, health, and 
politics. The following are the services under him : Crimes 
and misdemeanors, arrests, expulsions, public morals, prisons, 
workhouses, passports, certificate-books, furnished lodgings, 
lunatics, foundling children, nurses, police of public streets, 
navigation, railways, inspection of markets and provisions, 
weights and measures, fires, police for the exchange, the 
theatres, public balls and concerts, music halls, etc., inspec- 
tion of mines, quarries, carriages, boards of public health and 
cleansing, supervision of steam engines, and of children em- 
ployed in factories." There are sixty-seven Commissaries 
of Police, and a force of from four thousand five hundred to 
five thousand policemen on duty in the city. These arc 
called Gardiens de Paris, or Sergents de ViUe. They arc 
dressed in a blue uniform, with silver trimmings, and a silver 
ship and number on the coat collar, a cocked-hat and a sword. 
Y'ou will see numbers of them about the streets. Besides 



548 PAKIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

these, mounted men and infantry soldiers are detailed for 
places of public amusement and resort. 

Of the Secret Police little is known. The force would lose 
one-half of its effectiveness were the authorities to allow the 
details of the system to become public. There is a central 
bureau from which all of its operations are conducted, and 
its members are widely scattered throughout the city. Very 
few of them are known. They are generally men of great 
intelligence, cunning, and bravery, and have become famous 
for the success which usually attends their efforts to trace 
hidden crimes to their authors. The operations of the 
bureau are assisted b}^ the reports of vast numbers of spies 
and informers, who are said to pervade all classes of society. 
Even in the hio^hest and most aristocratic circles are to be 
found persons in the pay of the police. The object of this 
vast system of espionage is almost entirely the detection of 
conspiracies against the Government, and it often happens 
that the most innocent and careless expressions involve per- 
sons in trouble with the authorities. You cannot be sure 
that your most intimate friend is not an informer, and will 
not betray you to the police. Strangers should be always on 
their guard, and should beware of expressing to any French- 
man sentiments unfriendly to the " powers that be !" Even 
the most innocent criticism may involve them in trouble. 

The skill exhibited in the detection of crime is sometimes 
very remarkable. The following instance will illustrate this, 
and at the same time show the reader that the secret service 
often has its humorous as well as its tragic features : 

Shortly after the establishment of the Empire of his 
gracious Majesty Napoleon the Third, it became necessary 
for the government to be on its guard, to thwart the plots 
which the Socialists were organizing against it in every part 
of the country. Those archenemies of order and established 
government worked their affairs well, however, and gave 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 549 

the officials no little trouble. As fast as one plot was detec- 
ted and foiled, another was organized, and for awhile the 
danger seemed to increase daily. 

One morning one of the most experienced detectives whom 
I shall call Eugene Laromie, who had been told by his chief 
a few days before to hold himself in readiness to obey a 
summons from the government, i^eceived a message to attend 
a certain high ofl&cial without delay. Upon repairing to 
the presence of that personage he was received politely. 
"Monsieur Laromie," said the official, "the Chief of the 
Secret Police has designated you as the person most deserv- 
ing the confidence of the government in conducting certain 
matters of importance. A conspiracy against the State is 
known to, be in existence. You are desired to unravel it, 
and I am authorized to say that if you do so to the satisfac- 
tion of the Emperor, you will be handsomely rewarded. At 
present we know nothing of the parties concerned in it. 
Our suspicions have been aroused by this paper, which was 

found in the street in front of the residence of Count , 

the Ambassador of . You must put us in possession of 

the remaining facts in the case." 

As he spoke he handed the young man a small perfumed 
sheet of note paper, containing only the sentence, "Eivoli. 
48. 10. 6. 53." 

" May not this be merely an assignation, instead of the 
evidence of a conspiracy ?" asked Laromie, smiling. 

" Monsieur Laromie," replied the official, shrugging his 
shoulders, " the government has an especial reason for be- 
lieving itself to be right in this matter. It can give you no 
clue but this paper. It relies upon your sagacity to discover 
the rest. I have the honor to bid you good morning, mon- 
sieur. May success attend you." 

Taking the hint so politely given, Laromie left the official 
to his duties, and started out to think over the task assigned 



550 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASIIGHT. 

him. It certainly promised to be very difficult. He had 
only an unintelligible paper to work upon, and the govern- 
ment expected him to discover the whole matter. Laromie 
was a shrewd man, and now that he felt that his reputation 
was at stake, he resolved to exert himself to the utmost to 
succeed. 

The paper was found in front of the residence of the 

Ambassador from , whose government was known to be 

hostile to the Empire. Remembering, this, Laromie pro- 
ceeded to the office of his chief, and procured a complete list 
of the entire legation, from the minister himself, down to the 
humblest attache. He studied this, and watched the mansion 
containing the parties for a couple of days, but without 
being any the wiser for his trouble. 

" Why shouldn't it be an assignation, after all ?" he asked 
himself, going back to his original idea. " Why shouldn't 
Rivoli stand for Rue BivoU, and forty-eight for the number 
of a house on that street ? But then what do the other 
figures mean? Ha ! I have it," a sudden inspiration flashing 
through his mind. " Ten stands for the tenth of the month, 
six for the sixth month, which is June, and fifty-three for 
the year. There, T have the whole sentence — forty-eight 
Rue de Rivoli, tenth of June, 1853. Why, it's as plain as the 
nose on a man's face. It's an assignation beyond a doubt, 
and the ministers are worrying themselves over an effort 
directed at nothing but the peace of some pretty woman. 
I'll stake my reputation on it that I am correct. Now to 
see what sort of a place is number forty-eight." 

Acting upon the impulse which had possessed him, and 
which was one of those sudden inspirations that so often 
befall men trained in his profession, Laromie set oft' for the 
Rue de Rivoli. The more he thought of it, the more he felt 
convinced that he was right. No conspirator would have 
made use of so simple a cipher, and the perfumed note paper, 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 551 

and the delicate hand in which the sentence w?s written, 
made it plain that a woman was concerned in the matter. 
Heasoning thus in his mind, he entered the Eue de Eivoli, 
and soon came opposite the mysterious number forty-eight. 

The house was a large, handsome, private residence. It 
was evidently the dwelling of some person of wealth, and 
upon inquiring of a gendarme who stood near by, Laromie 
learned that the house was the property of Monsieur D'En- 
court, a wealthy banker. Being of a very communicative 
nature, the gendarme added that Monsieur D'Encourt was a 
happy man, inasmuch as he was the husband of the most 
beautiful woman in Paris. He had married her only a year 
before when she had been the reigning favorite at the 
Opdra Comique. 

"Ah, there she is now," he exclaimed, as a carriage drew 
up before the house. 

Laromie was all attention, and placed himself so as to com- 
mand a good view of the lady as she alighted from her car- 
riage. She deserved all that her humble admirer had said 
of her. She was regally beautiful. She passed into the 
house almost immediately, and Laromie, after loitering about 
for a short while longer, left the street, and was soon in the 
presence of the chief of police. 

"Do you know a Madame D'Encourt of this city?" he 
asked the chief, carelessly. 

" By reputation, only. You know I have to keep myself 
informed concerning every one of note here." 

" What is her character ?" 

"She is a weak, foolish woman, young enough to be her 
husband's daughter. She doesn't care for him at all, and 
married him for his money." 

"Do you think her capable of conspiring against the 
government?" 

The chief burst into a laugh. 



552 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

"Nonsense, Laromie. She has too tender a feeling for a 
certain member of the government to seek to do it any harm. 
No, my friend ; the only intrigues she cares to engage in 
threaten more harm to the repose of her husband's mind than 
to the Emperor." 

That evening Laromie posted himself at the principal 
entrance of the Grand Opera, having learned from Madame 
D'Encourt's coachman that she would be there. At last the 
lady arrived. Suffering her to pass into her box, he waited 
patiently until the close of the performance, and then placing 
himself immediately behind her, followed her towards her 
carriage. Just before they reached the street entrance, he 
took advantage of the crowd around them, and leaning 
towards her, said, in a low, distinct tone, " Bivoli ; forty-eighi ; 
ten; six ; fifty -three J'' She uttered a slight scream, and turned 
sharply around, but the detective had drawn back among the 
crowd. There was an anxious look on her face as she glanced 
around. Laromie felt convinced that he had found the writer 
of the mysterious note. 

The next day Madame D'Encourt was informed that a man 
desired to speak with her. She bade the domestic show him 
into the room where she was seated. She glanced at him in 
surprise. His beard was worn much heavier than was the 
custom in France, and his hair was long and inclined to curl. 
His forehead was traversed by a deep scar, which terminated 
in the corner of his left eye, giving him a singular and not 
very attractive expression. 

"You wish to see me, I believe," said the lady, as iie 
entered. 

" Madame is right. I have heard that she wishes to em- 
ploy a confidential servant — one upon whose discretion she 
can always rely," said the man, calmly. 
"Well?" 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 553 

" I have come to solicit the place, feeling sure that I can 
give entire satisfaction." 

*' You ? Why, you looK: like a brigand," said the lady, 
laughing. " I should never sleep in peace with you in the 
house." 

" Nevertheless," replied the man, calmly, "I do not think 
madame can do better." 

" What are you good for ? What can you do ?" 

'' I can keep a secret, madame, I can see that a lady does 
not suffer from too much suspicion on the part of her hus- 
band," was the significant reply. 

Madame D'Encourt's color heightened, and she looked at 
the man searchingly ; but he met her gaze calmly and with- 
out embarrassment. 

" What is your name ?" she asked, abruptly. 

" Eustache Peloubert." 

" Why do you wish to enter my service?" 

" Why does the bright flame draw the poor moth to it, 
madame?" was the cool reply. 

" You can flatter, I see," said the lady, laughing. " That 
shows you have tact. But, mark me," she said, sharply, 
" don't venture too near the flame. You may meet with the 
moth's fate." 

The man bowed low, with a singular smile. 

" Does madame accept me ?" he asked. 

" What wages do you expect?" 

"I leave that to the bounty of madame." 

"Then listen to me," said the lady. "I will take you into 
my service, for I think you will suit me. I will offer you no 
wages. If you please me you shall be amply rewarded. If 
I do not like you I will give you nothing, and will also dis- 
charge you. Does the arrangement suit you ?" 

"Perfectly, madame. When shall I commence?" 

" To-day. You will always be in the neighborhood of this 



554 PABIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

room, unless I give other orders, so that you may be within 
the sound of my bell." 

"Madame shall be obeyed," was the reply. And with a 
low bow the new domestic passed into an adjoining room, 
leaving Madame D'Encourt to ponder over the strange scene. 

As the time wore on she liked her new servant better, and 
at the close of a week came to the conclusion that she had 
been very fortunate in securing him. 

A few hours after forming this conclusion, she summoned 
him to her presence, and handing him a letter, said : 

" Take this to its address, and wait for an answer." 

Bustache took the letter, and left the room. As he entered 
the street he glanced at the address, and an exclamation of 
surprise escaped his lips.. He hastily sought the nearest m/e, 
and calling for some boiling water, held the letter over it 
until the gum by which the envelope was fastened was 
softened. Then opening it, he took out the enclosure and 
read it. A strange smile overspread his features, and after a 
moment's hesitation he copied the letter in a small note-book 
which he took from his pocket. Then placing the letter 
back in the envelope, he re-sealed it, and in another hour 
had placed it in the hands of the party for whom it was in- 
tended, and had received instructions to say to his mistress 
that the matter should be attended to. He delivered the 
message promptly. 

t: Monsieur D'Encourt had been called away to London on 
important business, and would be gone several days, madame 
said to him, when he had delivered the message. 

"Bustache," she added, " the gentlemen to whom you gave 
the letter may call this evening on business of importance. 
You will see that we are not interrupted. Should there be 
danger of such an occurrence, you will be careful to warn 
me promptly by three taps on the door of my boudoir." 

Bustache bowed. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 555 

" Madame's will is my law," he said, quietly. 

Late that evening he admitted to the presence of his 
mistress the gentleman he had seen in the morning. 

" You will remember my instructions, Eustache," she said, 
as he passed out of the room. 

Some hours later he was summoned to see that the way 
was clear for the visitor to depart unobserved. His report 
was favorable, and he accompanied the gentleman to the 
door. 

" Madame has engaged you as her confidential valet, she 
tells me," said the stranger, as he paused for a moment at 
the door. 

' Yes, monsieur." 

" You can be trusted, I suppose ?" 

" I think so, monsieur." 

"And you are not troubled with the faculty of recollect- 
ing things and persons that do not concern you." And the 
stranger dropped a couple of bright new Napoleons into the 
valet's hand. 

"Monsieur," said Eustache, gravely, "what passes in at 
one ear goes out at the other, or into my pocket." 

The stranger laughed, and added : 

"Very well, my good man. Act on this principle, and 
you Avill find a great deal going into your i^ocket." 

Eustache bowed low, and the stranger disappeared in the 
darkness of the street. The valet stood gazing after him for 
awhile, softly clinking the coins in his hand, and laughing in 
a quiet, meditative way. Then he shut the di)or, and went 
up to his chamber, which, owing to his important position, 
was somewhat better than that occupied by the other domes- 
tics. 

The next morning Eustache Peloubert left the house at an 
early hour, and bent his steps in the direction of the Bureau 
of the Secret Police. 



556 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Some time after his mistress rang for Mm, but he was 
not to be found on the place. A few hours later still, 
as she was impatiently awaiting his return, she was in- 
formed that a gentleman desired to speak with her immedi- 
ately on important business. Very much surprised, she 
bade the servant admit him to her presence. He was a tall, 
handsome man, and bore himself with an ease and grace that 
impressed her favorably. 

" AVell, monsieur," she said, "to whom am I indebted for 
the honor of this visit ?" 

" My name is Eugene Laromie, madame," replied her 
visitor, bowing. 

" Well, Monsieur Laromie, what is the business that you 
consider so important ?" 

" It is a matter that I would rather not trouble you with, 
madame. First let me say that I am one of the secret police 
of Paris." 

Madame D'Encourt looked at him searchingly, and asked, 
haughtily : 

" Wei], monsieur, what have I to do with the police ?" 
"I will explain. It has become known to the authorities 
that you have been guilty of a great imprudence lately," 
The lady started and turned pale. "In short, madame, it is 
.believed that yo^i are engaged in a conspiracy to overthrow 
the government, and I have special orders from the Emperor 
to investigate the matter." 

" There is some mistake here, monsieur," said Madame 
D'Encourt, energetically. "The Emperor has no more de- 
voted subject than I am. What cause is there to suspect 
me?" 

"I will tell you. A mysterious note has been found in 
front of the residence of a foreign minister whose govern- 
ment is known to be hostile to the Emperor. This note has 
been traced to you. A short while ago you employed a 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 557 

domestic for a service which jou did not wish to be known. 
You sent him with a letter to a certain gentleman of this 
city." Madame D'Encourt started violently. " The letter 
was delivered, but it Avas first opened and copied." 

" The Avretch !" exclaimed the lady — " to betray me.'" 

" This letter," continued Laromie, not heeding the inter- 
ruption, "was, like the first, written in cipher. The suspicions 
of the government have been very strongly excited against 
you, madame, and if you can explain this matter, I trust 3^ou 
will do so now. Otherwise it Avill be my duty to arrest 
you, and I need not tell you that I should regret that exceed- 
ingly. Here is the first letter, and a copy of the second." 
He laid two papers in her lap, and sat calmly waiting for her 
to speak. 

Madame D'Encourt took the papers and glanced at them. 
Her face and neck grew crimson, and a faint smile hovered 
around her lips. 

"Monsieur," she said, in a tone of relief, "I assure you 
these notes have no connection with a conspiracy. They do 
not mean the government the slightest harm. I assure you 
I speak truly." 

"I am ready to accept your assurance, madame," said Lh,- 
romie, "in my private capacity; but I have the Emperor's 
orders to clear up the mystery, and as his servant I am com- 
pelled to require a satisfactory explanation." 

" But, monsieur," urged the lady, with great embarrass- 
ment, " it is very trying to me. These notes concern a pri- 
vate affair of mine. I do not wish to make it public." 

"It will not be made public, madame," said the detective. 
" I will simply report in such a manner as to save you from 
annoyance. But to do tliis I must understand the whole 
matter. If you do not explain to me, you will be required 
to do so to a court of justice." 

" Ah, no 1 not that. You are cruel, monsieur." 



558 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

" Madame, I am only obeying the orders of my sovereign." 

The lady buried her face in her hands for a moment in 
extreme embarrassment, and Laromie oould see the crimson 
of her neck and cheeks growing deeper every moment. 
Suddenly she raised her head, 

" Ah, well, then, monsieur," she said, speaking with a great 
effort, "I will explain to you, and will rely upon your honor 
as a man to save me from any unfortunate result to this most 
awkward affair." 

He bowed low, and she at once entered upon her explana- 
tion, frequently pausing and covering her face with her 
hands to hide her confusion. When she had finished, Laro- 
mie rose. 

"This is most awkward, madame," he said, calmly. "1 
will make my report at once, and do my best to quiet the 
matter, so that it shall trouble you no longer." 

He bowed and left the house. Calling a fiacre, he set off' 
for the cabinet of the official who had set him to work to 
ferret out the plot. Upon sending in his name, he was im- 
mediately admitted. 

" Well, Monsieur Laromie," said the official, as he entered, 
"I trust you have been successful." 

" I have succeeded far better than I expected," replied the 
detective, quietly, "and I am now prepared to lay the whole 
case before your highness." 

" Aha !" exclaimed the duke (for the official was no other 
than a cabinet minister), rubbing his hands. " Proceed, my 
young Argus." 

"I suspected at first," said Laromie, "that the paper was 
an appointment for an assignation, you remember." 

" Very foolishly, too," interrupted the duke. 

" Well, I started out with this idea, and at last discovered 
that the paper contained an appointment for a meeting of the 
parties concerned in the affair. Further than this, I learned 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 559 

the locality at which the meeting was to take place, and upon 
following up this knowledge, discovered that one of the 
principal parties concerned in the matter is a wealthy and 
beautiful woman now residing in Paris." 

" Of course," exclaimed the duke, shrugging his shoulders; 
** always a woman at the bottom of every trouble." 

" Having brought to light one of the parties," continued 
Laromie, " I was of course anxious to discover the others. 
Fortune seemed to favor me. I heard that the lady desired 
a servant, and as I was unknown to her, and there was no 
danger of iny true character being suspected, I at once re- 
solved to apply for the place. I did so, and was suc- 
cessful." 

"A very shrewd fellow, I confess," said the duke. "But 
go on, monsieur, the story interests me." 

" I had not been in her service long," Laromie went on, 
" before she entrusted me with a letter for a certain party. 
r took it and promised to deliver it with promptness. It was 
addressed to a peer of France, my lord duke, one high in the 
confidence of the Emperor. I suppose it is not necessary to 
call names?" 

" No, Monsieur Laromie," replied the duke, somewhat 
quieter than before, "they are not necessary." 

"I opened the letter, and read it. It was in cipher, like 
the first, and like that, an appointment for a meeting. I 
copied the letter, then sealed it again, delivered it to the per- 
sonage for whom it was intended, and received his answer, 
which I transmitted to the lady. That night I admitted the 
peer lo the lady's presence, and stood guard during the inter 
view. The lady's husband, my lord, is ignorant of the whole 
matter, and I was to give warning should he return unex- 
pectedly. When the peer departed, he placed in my hand 
two Napoleons as the price of my discretion." 

"He was Yery liberal," said the duke, dryly. 



560 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

" Yery liberal, my lord duke. This morning I called on 
the lady in my true character, and informed her that she was 
suspected of plotting against the government. She denied 
it, and frankly explained the whole matter. I have found, 
my lord, that it is as I at first suspected, merely a love affair, 
with which the government has no right to meddle, and I 
promised the lady that it shall be hushed up. I think you 
will confirm my promise." 

While the detective was speaking, the duke had been 
hurriedly turning over a mass of papers that lay on his table. 
As Laromie finished, he took up one and glanced at it. 
Then turning to him, he said, hastily : 

"Monsieur Laromie, will you let me see the paper en- 
trusted to your care, and also the copy you made ?" 

" Certainly, my lord duke," replied the detective, handing 
them to him. 

The duke glanced at them, and then burst into a laugh. 

"This is very awkward, monsieur," he said, at length. 
" One makes some strange mistakes in a life-time. You were 
given the wrong paper. The government is satisfied with 
your skill in this matter, and now entrusts you with the true 
conspiracy." He handed the detective another paper, and 
went on, " By-the-by, Monsieur Laromie, I think you told 
the peer last night, when you helped him to gain the streel 
without notice, that what passed in at one of your ears, went 
out of the other, and all else into your pocket — in short, that 
you can keep a secist when it is to your advantage to do so." 

" My lord duke is right." 

" Well, then. Monsieur Laromie, you will receive from the 
peer whose secret you have discovered, a cheque for or 3 
thousand francs. You will then forget what you have seen. 
I have the honor to wish you good morning, monsieur." 

Laromie returned the duke's bow and left the oflice. The 
next day he received a cheque for one thousand francs, 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 561 

signed by the Duke de , and later an equal amount in 

bank notes with a note of thanks, written in a woman's hand, 
but without a signature. 

Two months later he laid before the duke the details of a 
conspiracy which had bsen for some time indirectly encour- 
aged by the ambassador from and his government. 

3t 



XXXYIII. 
THE PRISONS OF PARIS. 

I. 

THE PEISONS. 

The prisons of Paris are gloomy looking buildings from 
the exterior, and are cheerless enough within. They are 
under the control of the Prefect of Police, to whom applica- 
tioT^ for permission to visit them must be made. 




Mazas I'rison. 

Persons arrested by the police are temporarily detained at 
the Depot of the Prefecture^ back of the Palais de Justice^ and 
are confined together in large rooms. 

The Mazas Prison or, House of cellular arrest^ is an immense 
562 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



563 



establishment, semi-circular in form, and is one of the 
strongest and most secure in the city. It is here that persons 
sentenced to short terms of imprisonment and persons await- 
ing their trials are confined. The Gonciergerie^ in the Palais 
de Justice^ is also for the confinement of persons awaiting 
their trial. Persons condemned for misdemeanors to less 
than one year's imprisonment, are confined in the House of 
Detention of Sainte-Pelagie. The House of Detention and Cor- 
rection of Saint Lazare is used for the confinement of females 
sentenced to less than a year's imprisonment, and those 
awaitino- a transfer to some other establishment. Younoj 




Prison of Sainte-Pelao'ie. 



females arrested as vagabonds, or for misconduct, at the re- 
quest of their parents, and women of the town who have 
violated the police regulations, are imprisoned hero. Tliei'e 
is also a House of Detention at Passy, for the imprisonment 
of members of the National Guard, and a debtor's prison ia 
the Rue de Clichy. The prison oC the Madelonettes is the 
largest iu the city, and cost six millions of francs, "^fhe 
Prison of la JRoqueite is the place of confinement of criminals 
condemned to death, and all public executions take phice 
iiinnediately in front of it. 

As a general rule, only prisoners condemned to terms of 



564 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

less than one year are confined in Paris. All are treated 
alike, but persons merely awaiting trial may obtain separate 
and better quarters than those of the prisoners undergoing 
punishment, by paying for them. In^such cases the prisoner 
has a room to himself, which is called eire a la loistole. Each 
prisoner is allowed a little less than two pounds of bread and 
a quart of soup, with vegetables, per day, and meat once a 
week. Labor is enforced in all prisons. Until the establish- 
ment of the present Empire, convicts sentenced to hard labor 
were made to undergo the period of their punishment in cer- 
tain establishments, called bag7ies, located at Toulon, Brest, 
and Rochefort, but at present these baggies have been sup- 
pressed, and convicts are transported to Cayenne, in the 
French Guj^ana, South America. 



II. 
PUBLIC EXECUTIONS. 

Since the introduction of the Guillotine it has remained 
the only instrument of capital punishment used in France. 
To foreign eyes it is a horrible invention, but the French 
claim that it is the quickest and most merciful means of pro- 
ducing death that has been discovered, and that it is far more 
humane than the gallows. All, condemned criminals^ as I 
have stated, are confined in the prison of La Hoqiiette (the 
Rocket Prison) which is situ.ated in the eastern suburbs of 
Paris, about a mile beyond the Bastille, and all public execu- 
tions take place in the square just in front of the prison. 

I think the Parisians must have a natural taste for blood, 
for they crowd to witness an execution with the same eager- 
ness with which they huddle into the vast auditorium of the 
Porte Saint Martin theatre. The people living in the neigh- 
borhood of the Rocket Prison are always on the watch for 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. CG5 

events of this kind. The}'- inform themselves of every ar- 
rangement of the terrible affiiir, and then hasten to spread 
the news through the city. Some of thein are regularly em- 
ployed for tliis purpose by lovers of the terrible. As all 
executions take place at daylight, these people have ample 
opportunity on the previous night to circulate their news, 
and you will see them passing rapidly along the Boulevards, 
and from cafe to cafe, spreading their intelligence, and re- 
ceiving gratuities from almost all to whom they impart it. 
Do not think their tidings are welcomed only in the third 
rate cafes. They receive their highest rewards — sometimes 
as much as twenty fi'ancs — in the fashionable establishments 
of the Boulevards, and when the affair comes off, be sure 
you will find a liberal sprinkling of frock coats and kid gloves 
amongst the crowd of blouses. George Alfred Townsend 
gives the following graphic description of an execution 
which took place a few years ago, and by it the reader can 
see how such aftairs are managed in Paris: 

"At njiduight a body of cavalry forced back the mass of 
people from the square of La Eoquette. A number of work- 
men, issuing from the prison gates, proceeded to set up the 
instrument of death by the light of blazing torches. The 
flame lit up the dark jail walls, and shone on the helmets 
and cuirasses of the sabremen, and flared upon spots of the 
upturned faces, now bringing them into strong, ruddy relief, 
now plunging them into shadow. When the several pieces 
had been framed together, we had a real guillotine in view, 
the same spectre at which thousands of good and bad men 
had shuddered ; and the folks around it, peering up so 
eagerl}^ were descendants of those who had stood on the 
Place de la Concorde to witness the head of a king roll into 
the common basket. Imagine two tall, straight timbers, a 
foot apart, rising fifteen feet from the ground. They are 
grooved, and spring from a wide platform approached by a 



566 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

flight of steps. At the base, rests a spring plank or hascide, 
to which leather thongs are attached to buckle down the 
victim, and a basket or 2^<^nier filled with sawdust, to re- 
ceive the severed head. Between these, at their summit, 
hangs the shining knife in its appointed grooves, and a cord, 
which may be disconnected by a jerk, holds it to its position. 
Two men will be required to work the instrument promptly, 
the one to bind the condemned, the other to drop the axe. 
•The bascule is so arranged that the whole weight and length 
of the trunk will rest upon it, leaving the head and neck 
free, and when prone it will reach to the grooves, leaving 
space for the knife to pass below it. The knife itself is 
short and wide, with a bright concave edge, and a rim of 
heavy steel ridges it at the top; it moves easily in the 
greased grooves, and may weigh forty pounds. * * ^ 

" At four minutes to six o'clock on Thursday morning, the 

■wicket in the prison gate swung open ; the condemned ap- 

■:peared, with his hands tied behind his back, and his knees 

'bound together. He walked with difficulty, so fettered; but 

■ other than the artificial restraints, there was no hesitation or 

terror in his movements. His hair, which had been long, 

■dark, and wavy, was severed close to the scalp; his beard 

;had likewise been clipped, and the fine moustache and 

• goatee, which had set off his most interesting face, no longer 

appeared to enhance his romantic, expressive physiognomy. 

* * * He wore only the coarse prison shirt, scissored low 

in the neck, a pair of black 23antaloons, and his own shapely 

.boots. As he emerged from the wicket, the chill morning 

.air, laden with the dew of the truck gardens near at hand, 

■blew across the open spaces of the suburbs, and smote him 

v-with a cold chill. He was plainly seen to tremble; but in 

an instant, as if by the mere force of his will, he stood 

.motionless, and cast a first and only glance at the guillotine 

straight before him. It was the glance of a man who meets 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 567 

an enemy's eye, not sliriukiugly, but half defiant, as if even 
the bitter retribution could not abash his strong courage. 
*****"■ He seemed to feel that forty thousand men 
and women, and young children were looking upon him to 
see how he dared to die, and that for a generation his bearing 
should go into fireside descriptions. Then he moved on 
between the files of soldiers at his shuffling pace, and before 
him went the aumonier or chaplain, swaying the crucifix, 
behind him the executioner of Versailles — a rough bearded 
man — to assist in the final horror. 

" It was at this intense moment a most wonderful spectacle. 
As the prisoner had first appeared, a single great shout had 
shaken the multitude. It was the French word ' Voila P 
which means ' Behold !' ' See !' Then every spectator stood 
on tip-toe ; the silence of death succeeded ; all the close street 
was undulant with human motion ; a few house-roofs near by 
were dizzy with folks who gazed down from the tiles; all 
the way up the heights of Pere la Chaise, among the pale 
chapels and monuments of the dead, the thousands of stirred 
beings swung and shook like so many drowned corpses float- 
ing on the sea. Every eye and mind turned towards the lit- 
tle structure raised among the trees, and there they saw a 
dark, shaven, disrobed young man going quietly toward his 
grave. 

"He mounted the steps deliberately, looking towards his 
feet; the priest held up the crucifix, and he felt it was there, 
but did not see it; his lips one moment touched the image of 
Christ, but he did not look up nor speak; then as he gained 
the last step, the bascule or swing-board sprang up before 
him, the executioner gave him a single push, and he fell 
prone upon the plank with his fiice downward; it gave way 
before him, bearing him into the space between the upright 
beams, and he lay horizontally beneath the knife, present- 
ing the back of his neck to it. Thus resting, he could look 



568 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

into the panzer or basket, into whose sawdust his head was 
to drop in a moment. And in that awful space, while all 
the people gazed with their fingers tingling, the legitimate 
Parisian executioner gave a jerk at the cord which held the 
fatal knife. With a quick, keen sound, the steel became de- 
tached ; it fell hurtling through the grooves ; it struck some- 
thing with a dead, dumb thump ; a jet of bright blood spurted 
into the light, and dyed the face of an attendant horribly red; 
and Gouty de la Pommerais's head lay in the saw-dust of the 
panier, while every vein in the lopped trunk trickled upon 
the scaffold floor. They threw a cloth upon the carcass and 
carried away the panier ; the guillotine disappeared beneath 
the surrounding heads ; loud exclamations and acclaims 
burst from the multitude; the venders of trash and edibles 
resumed their cheerful cries, and a hearse dashed through the 
mass, carrying the warm body of the guillotined to the 
Cemetery of Mont Parnasse. In thirty minutes newsboys 
were hawking the scene of the execution upon all the quays 
and bridges." 




570 



XXXIX. 

IiXDUSTEIxVL COLLECTIOIiS. 

I. 

THE PALACE OF INDUSTRY. 

On" the South side of the Champs Elysces, is a magnijBcent 
stone building known as the Palace of IndusiriJ. It was 
erected for the great exhibition of 1855. " An Exhibition 
of the Arts and Manufactures of France was established in 
1798, and has been repeated every five years with occasional 
intermissions. The number of exhibitors, however, never 
exceeded four thousand, and the building in which the ex- 
hibition took place was a temporary construction. The 
Great English Exhibition of 1851 far eclipsed all the previ- 
ous Paris exhibitions, and instigated the French to attempt a 
monster one of the same kind. In 1852, accordingly,, designs 
were formed for the erection of a permanent building of stone 
and glass which we now see. The Exhibition opened on the 
15th of May, 1855, and continued for five months, the visitors 
during which time were estimated at four million. Besides 
the present building, an immense rotunda, and a gallery 
thirteen hundred yards long called Annexe, were erected 
towards the Quai, so that the permanent building formed but 
a small part of the total, the area of which exceeded that of 
the Crystal Palace in Ilyde Park. The walls of the Palais 
are of stone, so largely supplied with windows as to be more 
a system of arches than walls. The principal entrance is in 

571 



572 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

the Avenue des Champs Elysees; it is surmounted by a 
group of stataary representing the Genius of France dis- 
tributing rewards to Art and Commerce. On the outside 
are shields bearing the names of French towns, and medal- 
lions containing busts of celebrated men ; and round the 
lower frieze the names of men celebrated in all branches of 
knowledge and of every country. 

" The interior consists of one large hall, six hundred and 
thirty-four feet long, and one hundred and fifty-eight feet 
wide, one hundred and fifteen feet high, surrounded by side- 
aisles, or galleries, on iron columns, and one hundred feet 
wide. The roof is of iron and glass, and arched, the flat 
walls at each end being filled with brilliant but badly painted 
glass. One of these represents France inviting all nations to 
the exhibition." 

Horticultural and agricultural shows, and exhibitions of 
the fine arts, of curiosities, of models of public works and in- 
genious inventions, are in progress at the Palais at almost all 
seasons of the year 

II. 

THE MUSEUM OF ARTILLERY. 

In the Place St. Thomas d'Aquin, just out of the Rue de 
Bac, on the south side of the river, is the old building once 
the Dominican Convent of Saint Thomas d'Aquin, but now 
the Imperial Museum of Artillery. It was begun in 1794, 
with the old armor saved from the Bastille, Sedan, and other 
places. Napoleon I. presented it with many specimens taken 
from foreign collections, but the most of these were removed 
in 1815. In July, 1830, it was plundered by the insurgents 
who were in search of arms, and very many of the specimens 
thus taken were never returned by the " good patriots." At 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



573 



present there are in the collection, about 4,000 objects, all 
arranged in the most tasteful as well as the most compre- 
hensive manner. 

In the court-yard, called the " Sebastopol Court," are a 
number of heavy guns, mortars, anchors, and other trophies 




Museum of Artillery. 

brought from the Eussian stronghold. The corridor sur 
rounding the court, is lined with cannon of ail ages and 
countries. Here are guns abandoned by the English at the 
siege of Meaux, in 1442, Austrian field-pieces captured at 
Magenta and Solfcrino, and Russian guns from Bomarsund. 
A massive iron chain, two hundred yards long, hangs on the 



574 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

wall. It was used by the Turks to close a branch of the 
Danube, during the siege of Vienna, in 1683. 

The remainder of the collection is arranged in a number 
of rooms and halls, occupying the two stories of the building. 
Here are models of all the artillery used in the French ser- 
vice from the days of Louis XIV. down to the present time. 
Here are specimens of ancient and modern fire-arms, and at 
least one of every species of weapons in present use in the 
armies of the civilized world. Our American rifles show 
well in this gi-oup. This part of the collection is very com- 
plete, and ill the same hall are models or actual specimens of 
every article needed for the complete equipment of an army, 
also many specimens of the weapons of barbarous or semi- 
civilized nations. 

Ascending the stairway, along which are ranged some fine 
bass-reliefs of Roman and Mediaeval armor, you enter the 
Great Hall, which contains a magnificent collection of arras 
and armor, arranged chronologically in glass cases down the 
middle of the room, and dating from the remotest periods. 
In the centre of the hall are men in armor and on horseback, 
and along the sides, suits of armor, some of which belonged to 
the kings or great princes of France. The objects are ar- 
ranged with the utmost care, and are fully explained in the 
excellent catalogue for sale at the street entrance. They form 
a complete history of defensive and offensive warfare from 
the ages of Stone and Bronze down to the present day. Here 
also you may see the swords of Augereau (used at Areola) 
of Desaix, Murat, Lefebvre, and the Eagles of the Legions 
of the Great Napoleon. You may spend a whole day, or 
more, in examining the collection, and learning the gradual 
changes and improvements which each century has made in 
the system of civilized warfare. 




w 



^ 



676 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 577 

III. 

THE CONSERVATOIRH DES ARTS ET MlTIERS. 

The building in wliicli tins collection is located, was once 
a part of the ancient Monastery of Saint Martin des Champs^ 
founded by Ilenry L, in 1060. The Monastery was sup- 
pressed in 1789, and in 1798, the Conservatoire des Arts Et 
Metiers was formed. 

"The object of the institution is the improvement of 
machinery of every kind, by exhibiting models of the best 
and most recent inventions for the purpose of stimulating 
tlie creative faculty in the minds of other artists and 
mecbanics. Previous to 1798, three repositories of machines 
existed in Paris, but in this year they were amalgamated 
into one. In 1810, a gratuitous school of arts was origina- 
ted, which was reorganized and enlarged several times, until 
in 1838 it was finally established under its present regula- 
tions. No patent for any sort of improvement in machines, 
or the invention of new ones, is granted until a model of the 
same has been deposited in this museum ; so that instru- 
ments, from the simplest tool to the most complicated piece 
of mechanism, are collected and classified in the salons of 
this building. 

'' The principal entrance to the Conservatoire is- on the 
west, under a solid archway, richly sculptured, under the 
pediment of which, is inscribed, ' Conservatoire Imperiale des 
Arts et Metiers.'' The edifice consists of a part of the old 
abbey of St. Martin des Champs, and of the chapel belongini^ 
to it erected by Pierre de Montereau, the architect of the 
Sainte Chapelle. The style is Gothic. The museums are 
held in spacious saloons, communicating with lecture rooms 
of modern construction. The library, which contains up- 
wards of twenty thousand volumes, on mechanical and 
37 



578 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

mathematical subjects,' is most elegantly fitted up. There 
are also fresco figures of Chemistry, Natural Philosophy, 
Painting, and the Plastic Art. 

" On the ground floor^ are arranged in beautiful order, 
weighing machines, looms, spinning machines, printing 
presses, screw making machines, agricultural implements, 
such as ploughs, harrows, mills, crushing and winnowing 
machines, etc. There are also specimens of porcelain, silk, 
glue, etc. In the vestibule is a bass-relief of Dedalus and 
Icarus, by Euxtheil, and, in an adjoining out-house, Tux- 
ford's locomobile engine, which gained the chief medal, at 
the Great Exhibition of 1851, may be seen. It was here 
that Ledru Rollin, Sergeant Boichot, and other plotters 
against the government of Greneral Cavaignac, were seized 
on the 13th June, 1849. 

" On the upper story are exhibited steam and fire-engines, 
apparatus for lighting and heating, turning lathes, and 
.amongst them one that belonged to Louis XIV. There are, 
moreover, rooms devoted to geometrical illustrations ; to 
carpentry ; to the making of compasses ; to specimens of 
stereotype ; furnaces, etc. Also to instruments belonging to 
:the science of natural philosophy or physics ; as air-pumps, 
electric machines, etc., and to clocks and chronometers." 



XL 

THE INVALID ES. 

I. 

THE HOSPITAL. 

The Hotel des Invalides, lies on the south bank of the Seine, 
just opposite the Champs Elysces, and is separated from the 
river by a long espkmade planted with trees. 




The Invalides — From tlie Esplanade. 

Until the reign of Louis XIV., there was no general 
asjluni for the veteran soldiers who had become disabled by 
wountls or sickness in the service of the country. The great 
king and his minister Louvois determined to supply this 
need, and accordingly, in 1(570, the present H'dd d<-s Inoalides 

.■)7y 



580 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

was founded. The principal portion was finished in 1706, 
but several additions have been made since then. 

When the mob set out for its attack on the Bastille during 
tlie Eevolution, the insurgents who composed it marched 
first to the Hotel des Invalides and summoned the Governor, 
an old mac of eighty, to surrender. lie having no force to 
resist the attack, deemed it best to open his gates, and the 
rioters swept into the grounds and building, and carried off 
twenty pieces of cannon and twenty-eight thousand mus- 
kets. With these, they carried the grim old tower of Saint 
Antoine. 

Between the court in front of the building and the Esplan- 
ade, is a dry ditch, and just behind this is the "Triumphal 
Battery," composed of eighteen guns, fourteen of which 
were captured during the wars of the First Empire, two at 
Sebastopol, and two at Algiers. These guns stand in demi- 
batteries, one on each side of the grand gateway. To the 
right and left of them are twenty other pieces captured in 
Algeria, China, Cochin China, and Egypt. 

Back of the court is a garden, which the old pensionera 
are allowed to cultivate, and at the end of it extends the 
principal fagade. It is four stories high, two hundred and 
twenty-five yards long, is pierced with one hundred and 
thirty-three windows, and is richly ornamented with trophies 
and statues. The entrance is in the form of a triumphal 
arch, the tympanum of which is ornamented with a bass- 
relief representing Louis XIV., on horseback, attended hy Jus- 
tice and Prudence. The east and west ends are ornamented 
with handsome pavilions, and the whole front has an appear- 
ance of massive grandeur, in full harmony with the faded, 
time-worn hue that is overspreading the entire pile. The 
Governor, usually a Marshal of France, and the lieutenant- 
governor reside in this portion of the establishment. 

The buildings and grounds cover an area of sixteen acres, 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 581 

and include about eigliteen different courts, and afford ac- 
commodations for about five thousand veterans. The courts 
of ihe main building are five in number. The principal one 
is the "Court of Honor," three hundred and fifteen feet long 
by one hundred and ninety-two feet broad. It lies just back 
of tlie main entrance, and is surrounded by a long corridor, 
the walls of which are decorated with paintings illustrating 
the military history of France from the earliest times. 

At the gateway you will be beset with men and women 
offering you guide-books, relics, and little boxes of souvenirs 
of the place. They are more numerous here than anywhere 
else in the city, and it is hardly possible that you will suc- 
ceed in entering the grounds without purchasing some of 
this pretty trash. Once out of the hands of these petty mer- 
chants, you are accosted by one of the old pensioners, who 
politely offers his services. It is usual to accept the offer, 
through consideration for the veteran, but you will find very 
few of the old blue coats who will be of much service to you 
as a guide. 

You pass in with the old man, through the grand archway 
and into the Court of Honor, pausing awhile to admire the 
mural paintings of the arcades, some of which are very beauti- 
ful. 1'hen you may see the building in whatever order your 
fancy dictates. The Library is attached to the ofiicers' quar- 
ters, and contains twenty thousand volumes. Here you will 
see the c;mnon-l)ull which killed tlie great Turenne, in 1673, 
and two silver candlesticks which be used in his campaigns. 
The library is a good collection, and was given to the hospital 
by Napoleon I. 

On the ground floor, at the end of a long passage, is the 
kitchen, a curiosity of its kind. The preparations for cook- 
ing the meals of such a large number of inmates, are of 
course very great, the establishment having a capacity for 
cooking twelve hundred pounds of meat at once, but the 



682 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

ingenuity displayed in their selection and arrangement is 
remarkable. Everything is scrupulously clean, and the tins 
and coppers shine like silver and gold. Close by is the 
butler's pantry, in which you will see the splendid old- 
fashioned service of plate, presented to the establishment by 
the various sovereigns of France. The refectory, for privates 
and non-commissioned officers, is a large hall, handsomely 
frescoed. It is one of those massive old rooms of the age of 
Louis XIY., and is lined with long oaken tables, surrounded 
by rows of stools. The service is simple, but everything is 
clean and neat. The officers' refectory is smaller, but much 
handsomer, and the paintings are better. The service is 
quite elaborate, and the accommodations in proportion to 
the rank of the occupants. The dinner hour is four o'clock, 
and " as the clock strikes, a drum rolls, a general restless 
movement takes place in the crowd ; in all directions is heard 
the stumping of wooden legs." 

The dormitories are eight in number, and are each named 
after some French hero. They occupy the first and second 
floors, and are simply but comfortably arranged. 

Between the 15th of May and the loth of June, of each 
year, strangers provided with tickets from the Minister of 
War, are allowed to see the models of the fortresses of 
France, which are contained in two long galleries in the 
garret. There are about fiftj'' of them, including models of 
Brest, Strasbourg, Cherbourg and its great breakwater, Per- 
pignan, Grenoble, Bayonne, Toulouse, Dunkirk, Belleisle, 
Besan9on, Mont St. Michel, and others. 

The hospital is capable of accommodating five thousand 
inmates, but at present is. occupied by about three thousand. 
The inmates wear a blue uniform with white metal buttons, 
and silver lace trimmings, and a cocked hat. Each one re- 
ceives an annual allowance of money, besides his clothing, 
food, and quarters. The sum varies according to the rank 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 583 

of the recipient. The privates receive twenty-four francs per 
annum, and the Governor, 40,000 francs. Twenty-six Sisters 
of Charity, and two hundred and sixty servants attend upon 
the veterans, 

II. 

MILITAEY MASS. 

At the eastern end of the Court of Honor is the entrance 
to the Church of Saint Louis, which is used as the chapel of 
the hospital. Passing in through the corridor, you push 
open a green baize door, and enter the church. The interior 
really consists of two churches, now thrown into one by a 
massive archway, closed upon ordinary occasions by purple 
velvet hangings. The high altar stands in this archway, and 
answers for both churches. That nearest the Court of Honor 
is used as the chapel — the other contains the tomb of Napo- 
leon. The chapel proper is two hundred and twenty feet 
long and seventy feet wide. A fine organ is placed in the 
tribune over the door. A row of massive pillars extends 
down each side of the church, and from the vaulted roof are 
suspended the tattered banners of the foes of France captured 
in battle. There were three thousand of them hanging here 
at the downfall of Napoleon I., but the Minister of War 
ordered them to be destroyed the night before the Allies 
occupied Paris, in 1814, to prevent their recapture. They 
add much to the interesting appearance of the old church. 
Here are the funeral monuments of several of the Marshals, 
or Governors of the Invalides, and in the vaults below are 
buried Marshals Turenne, Jourdan, Moncey, Duroc, Bertrand, 
Mortior, Scrurier, Duperre, Grouchy, Bugcaud, and others. 
The church also holds the hearts of Vauban, Klcber, Ncgrier, 
and Mademoiselle de Soinbreuil. 

Ordinary service is held here every morning, but at eleven 



584 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

o'clock on Sandaj, the Military Mass is performed with 
great pomp and ceremony. From a charming little work,* 
published not long since, I take the following account of this 
ceremony. It is so truthful and vivid that I prefer it to an 
attempt of my own : 

"Fancy a grand, dimly-lighted chamber, with incense 
floating around the altar, and drifting up to mingle with the 
war smoke lingering in tattered flags still above. Iluiidreds 
of flags are arranged everywhere; standards that Napoleon's 
eye has seen fall ; banners that have waved over Sebastopol, 
the haughty Prussian ensigns, a hundred Spanish draperies, 
all hung in triumph in a church. I wonder if the old sol- 
diers worship the saints, or the flags when they come here. 

" There is a standard which came from Boston in 1773, 
another from Quebec, and still another — how came it here — ■ 
from Lexington ! 

"It will soon be noon, and the worshippers of the parish 
begin to pour in. Strangers come, for the music is said to 
be superb. While the nurse maids and their soldier lovers 
are dropping on their knees here and there, a long burst of 
melody comes from a hidden band, and a solemn requiem for 
the dead is played. The priest kneels silently before the 
altar. By-and-by a chorus of pure voices chants, above our 
heads in some unknown gallery, and the music of an organ 
swells on the air. 

"Crash ! a dozen drums, the monotonous roll of the tam- 
bour, and the unequal tread outside the doors announce that 
the invalids are marching in to attend service; the doors 
open, and a huge beadle, stamping his ponderous mace on 
the stone floor, ushers them in, 

"Bent and shrivelled, worn and wasted, supported by 
crutclics, canes, and kindly arms of stronger companions, in 

* My Paris. — By Edward King. 




Dome of the Invalides. 



[85 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 587 

they come! Bat, bat, bat; their eyes seem to flash fire as 
they gaze upon the flags, and now and then an old hero 
stands so erect that his medals are seen plainly on his 
wrinkled breast. 

"Halte! 

"The whole line is transformed to wooden statues patched 
out witli wooden pieces. One old rogue winks wickedl}'- at 
a small boy when the mass begins, and pinches his neighbor. 
The gray-haired commander, almost in his second childhood, 
blossoms all over with conceit and happiness, MiUtary 
evolutions arc performed, and then the music surges down- 
ward amons; the flags once more. Snatches of masses that 
these warriors have heard sung over their dead comrades in 
foreign lands, sometimes bring a tear, but oftener a smile. 
Soldiers are happy-go-lucky fellows at best. 

"Now heads are uncovered and bent, as the solemn Kyrie 
Eleison is chanted. The line is motionless. 

"Enavant! 

"The old commander orders attention, forward, and march, 
and they hobble out, and meet you in every out of the way 
corner, asking if you would like to see the tomb, and ahv^ays 
finishing the little conversations which they invent with 
'Monsieur will please to remember an old soldier!' Which 
means that a small present will be acceptable." 



III. 

THE EMPEROR'S TOMB. 

You pass out through the great gates and follow the street 
wall around to the Place Vauban, in order to enter that por- 
tion of the church surmounted by the dome and containing 
the tomb of Napoleon. The portal is very rich, and is orna- 
mented witli statues and Doric and Corinthian columns* 



588 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Above the roof rises the noble dome built by Mansard at the 
close of the Seventeenth Century. He took nearly thirty 
years to build it, and it is one of his finest works. It is cov- 
ered with lead and is richly gilded and sculptured. From 
any elevated point of the city you can see the sunlight shin- 
ing on it, but the effect, while good in itself, is not in keep- 
ing with the venerable appearance of the rest of the building. 
From the summit of the cross to the ground it is three 
hundred and twenty-three feet. 

The interior of the church is very beautiful. The 
magnificent high altar at the end facing the entrance is sur- 
mounted by a canopy supported by four black marble col- 
umns, each twenty-two feet high, and consisting of an entire 
block. The capitals are gilded, but the light which falls on 
them from the painted windows is so arranged as to give 
them the appearance of mother of pearl. The cupola is finely 
painted, and rises majestically above the crypt. The sides 
of the church are occupied by eight fine cliapels. The old 
chapel of Saint Thdrese contains the tomb of Turenne, and the 
chapel of the Virgin the tomb of Yauban. The}- lie imme- 
diately opposite each other. In the chapel of Saint Jerome 
are the remains of Jerome Bonaparte, the brother of Napoleon, 
and in another those of Joseph, the ex-king of Spain" and 
eldest brother of Napoleon. The Emperor's remains were 
deposited in the chapel of St. Jerome upon their arrival from 
Saint Helena, and remained there unlil the completion of 
their present resting place. 

In the centre of the church and immediately under the 
great dome, is the mausoleum of Napoleon I. It consists of 
a circular crypt open above, and surrounded by a marble 
balustrade, over which you can look down into the tomb. 
The crvpt is nineteen feet deep, and in tlie centi-e is the sar- 
cophagus of the Emperor, a massive solid block of polished 
red sandstone from Lake Onega, in Finland, weighing about 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



589 



thirteen tons. Twelve colossal statues of victory support 
the balustrade. The pavement is in mosaic with festoons of 
flowers and the names of Napoleon's greatest victories. At 
one end of the crjpt is a niche of black marble, in which 
stands a line statue of Napoleon in his Imperial robes. A 
lamp, always burning, hangs before it, and beneath the lamp 
is an antique altar on which are placed the three keys of the 
cofl&ns in which the body was laid at Saint Helena, the 
sword used by the Emperor at Austerlitz, the hat he wore 
at Eylau, and the gold crown presented to him by the city 




The Emperor's Tomb. 



of Cherbourg. On each side of the vault are the standards 
taken by him in battle. The tomb is very handsome, but 
not as imposing as it should have been. 

Two winding stairways under the high altar of the church, 
lead to the vault below. The entrance to the Emperor's 
tomb is closed by two magnificent bronze gates, and 
on either si'le of the entrance are the tombs of Marshals 
Duroc and Bertrand, Napoleon's most devoted friends in life, 



590 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

and the guardians of his rest in death. Over the portal of 
the entrance is the inscription, taken from the Emperor's 
last will, " I wish my ashes to repose on the banks of the 
Seine, in the midst of that French people whom I have loved 
so well." 

Visitors are not allowed to enter the vault, but must pause 
at the closed gates. No rude footsteps are heard around th-e 
ashes of the great soldier, and even the church above th« 
crowd is silent and subdaed, for this is holy ground to every 
Frenchman. 



XLI. 

THE POOR OF PA ins. 
I. 

THE CHILDREN OF POVERTY. 

He wlio has penetrated the dark and dismal quarters of 
Paris, and has seen the misery which reigns triumphant in 
such close proximity to the luxury and splendors of the 
great city, will understand how difficult it is to treat in a 
single chapter of that which rniglit fill a volume. One 
hardly knows where to begin or wliat to describe. 

Paris is full of suffering, so full, indeed, that the liberality 
of the City and Government, though very bountiful, fall far 
short of meeting the actual necessities of the case. The 
assistance granted by the authorities is dealt out upon a 
thoroughly organized system which is placed in the hands 
of the "Committee of Public Assistance." This committee 
provides a series of excellent establishments for the relief of 
suffering, and about one hundred and eighteen thousand per 
sons are the recipients of its charity. Some of the institu- 
tions under its control will be described in the chapter on 
" hospitals." Over twenty-six millions of francs are annually 
expended by the City and State for the relief of sufl'ering in 
all its forms, but this immense sum fulls far short of the de- 
mand, and even the additional fund derived from private 
contributions fails to make up the deficit. You may spend 
days in visiting the benevolent establishments, wliich are so 

591 



592 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

vast and so complete tliat it seems almost impossible for suf- 
fering to exist in their vicinity, and yet you are startled by 
the terrible want and misery you see all around you. 

Paris draws all classes to it, especially the poor. They 
come here from the provinces and from other lands, expect- 
ing to find work, but the city is so full, and all the trades and 
arts are so crowded, that but few in proportion to the number 
of applicants succeed in finding employment. The rest, 
almost before they know it, are in the depths of poverty. 
How they struggle to resist it, and how futile are these 
struggles, is known only to the Eye that sees all things. 
Even those who have regular employments are not always 
exempt from suffering. As a rule, Avages are low in Paris, 
and it is very hard " to make both ends meet " on the slight 
pittance the working classes receive. The majority are 
forced to live in narrow, dirty quarters, oftentimes where the 
sunlight and pure air never reach them. They have no fire, 
and as for light, a wretched lamp or a more dismal candle 
must serve their purposes. They dress shabbily, they cannot 
afford better clothes. Meat is a luxury to them ; if they 
taste it once a week they are fortunate, and in general, must 
content themselves with a thin, wretched soup. So badly 
are they lodged, so wretchedly do they fare, that you wonder 
how they can perform the constant and hard labor required 
of them. They have absolutely no chance of bettering 
their condition, and in case of sickness, or loss of work, must 
inevitably sink lower, and once down they have but little 
prospect of rising again. This is the condition of a very 
large part of the working class of the city. How much worse 
then mast be the lot of those who cannot procure employ- 
ment. 

The poor workman as a rule lives in a single room, or 
two at the most, and his family share these close quarters 
with him. lie is barely able to provide a support for those 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 593 

dependent upon liim, and his wife, besides taking care of the 
" house " and the children, must work for wages either at 
home or abroad. Black bread and soup, and perhaps a little 
meat once in awhile, form the diet of the family. Numbers 
are huddled together in the same building, and the whole 
establishment is close and dirty. Everything speaks of 
poverty and want. The streets are narrow and tortuous, the 
buildings are high and dingy, and you cannot look to the 
right or left, before you or behind you without seeing some 
painful or disgusting object. The average New York tene- 
ment house is no worse than these dwellings of the poor. 
Efforts have been made to induce, and even to force them to 
remove to the cleaner and more healthful localities of the 
outer Boulevards, and many of them have done so ; but 
many still remain in the heart of the city. They have not 
the means to travel back and forth between their homes and 
their work, and besides are unwilling to quit their old 
haunts. 

The workmen wear wooden shoes and blue blouses as a 
rule, and nearly all have a weary, despondent look when 
their features are tranquil. The women are coarsely and 
often dirtily dressed. Their costumes are various, and are 
sometimes picturesque in spite of their wretchedness. 

The women working at the various trades are worse paid 
than the men. If married, their earnings are united with 
the husband's ; if single, they live alone as long as they re- 
main honest. The best paid are the shop-girls, of whom as 
a class hard stories are told. The sewing-girls constitute a 
large portion of the female workers. The highest wages 
paid them rarely exceed twelve francs and are never more 
than fifteen francs per week, for twelve hours' labor a day. 
Out of this the girl must live, pay her rent and clothe her- 
self. Let the reader imagine what a difficult task lies before 
3b 



594 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

her, remembering that the highest wages named above are 
less than three American dollars. 

J.1 then the lot of those receiving wages is so hard, how 
much harder must be that of those who have no dependence ! 
Their sufferings are great. For days thej go without food, 
and think themselves fortunate if they can find a bit of 
bread or a half picked bone in the streets. They cannot 
even ask for charity in public for the law forbids begging on 
the streets. It makes no distinction between the ten thou- 
sand wilful vagrants who infest the city and those who are 
simply and unavoidably unfortunate. It forbids any of them 
to appeal to passers by for aid. Yet " necessity knows no 
law," and when the pangs of hunger are fiercest they timidly 
and cautiously seek aid from the nearest person, and to the 
credit o'f humanity be it said, their appeals are generally 
successful. Their chief assistance, apart from the city, how- 
ever, is derived from the poor laborers, whose own hard lot 
inclines them to help those more wretched than themselves. 

You see them everywhere, on the Boulevards, in the little 
squares which dot the cit}'-, in their own sad quarters. 
Wherever there is a fete or a ball going on, they collect in 
crowds — dark, wretched and fierce crowds — and gaze silently 
at the splendors which seem almost heavenly to them. 
Sometimes the contrast is too great, and they break out into 
yells and imprecations which at once call down upon them the 
interference of the police. Poor, ignorant, wretched creatures ! 
they have tried more than once to overturn the State in the 
hope of bettering their condition, but only to find a change 
of masters. 

"Wherever you see a bench or a seat in any of the public 
grounds or along the river side, you will see these poor 
creatures — in a half- reclining position so as to avoid the 
suspicions of the police — with their heads sunk on their 
breasts, sound asleep. Nothing could be more touching than 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 595 

the weary, dejected appearance they present, but they excite 
no pity in the hearts of the cocked liat-gentlemen who guard 
the city. ■ They are not allowed to sleep on the streets, and 
after a certain hour at night, when the park gates are closed, 
cannot sit down. Later, still, they must not even remain 
standing on the street. They must move on, if they have 
no homes. And so all night long they must keep walking 
through the hard streets and under the pitying stars. Even 
a brief halt or the slightest attempt to rest brings the police 
upon them. The sequel is an arrest and confinement for 
vagrancy, which those who preserve the slightest self- 
respect, dread. They will endure hunger, fatigue, loss of 
sleep — anything — but a commitment for vagrancy. They 
bear up with a strange heroism against the cold, hungry, 
wakeful nights, but they dread the rain or the snow. Then 
even pride forsakes them, and they seek the nearest police 
station and beg for shelter. It matters nothing now that 
they must henceforth bear the stigma of vagranc3^ The 
rain conquers them, and they fly from it to the punishment 
with which the law visits their misfortunes. I am not 
writing of the wilful vagrants of the city, but of that class 
who are forced into legal vagrancy by their misfortunes. 
They deserve better treatment at the bands of the law, for in 
spite of their misfortunes, iu spite of their poverty, in spite 
of their agony of body and mind, they keep their souls free 
from crime, and when their lot grows so hard that it can no 
longer be borne, they seek under the dark waters of the 
Seine, the rest they failed to find on earth. 



596 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

II. 

THE MONT DE PIETfi. 

In the Rue des Blancs-Manteaux tbere stands a huge estab- 
lishment with which the majority of the Parisians are too 
well acquainted. It is the great pawnbrokers' establishment, 
the Mont de PietL Pawnbroking in France is a monopoly, 
and is conducted under strict regulations. In Paris there is 
this great central establishment, which is provided with two 
branches and twenty auxiliary offices. The Mont de Piete 
was founded in 1777, and has a monopoly of loans and 
pledges. It is the property of the city of Paris. The capi- 
tal necessary to establish it was taken from the general hos- 
pital fund, to which all its net profits are applied. Being a 
municipal institution, its transactions are, of course, strictly 
honorable, and its patrons are saved the losses they would 
sustain at the hands of the class which usually manage such 
matters. In a city like Paris, pawnbrokers are a necessity. 
There is so much misery here which the authorities cannot 
relieve, that expedients like this must be resorted to, and the 
city has acted wisely in taking the matter into its own hands 
and. protecting the poor from the outrages which were for- 
merly practised upon them. 

The most of the pledges are deposited at the branch or 
auxiliary offices, but all are transported for storage to the 
central establishment, where one must go to redeem them. 
The articles bring only a certain proportion of their value, 
and the borrower pays nine and a half per cent, if the pledge 
is made at the central office, and twelve per cent, if at one of 
the minor offices. The engagement is made for one year, 
I) at one may take up his pledge at any time before the ex- 
piration of the year, or he may renew the engagement nine 
limes after the first one, makino; the renewal at the end of 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AXD GASLIGHT. 597 

each 3^ear, If an article is neither renewed nor redeemed, 
at the expiration of fourteen months, it is sold, and should 
there be anj surplus over the sum due the establishment, 
arising from the sale, it is paid to the owner, upon his appli- 
cation within three years. 

The auxiliary office has received from the working people 
the slang name of " Le Clou." * The students call it " Ma 
Tante " (my aunt). There are twenty of them, as I have said, 
and as they lie nearer than the central office to the majority 
of the people, they do the principal amount of the traffic with 
the poor. They are curious places, and the persons you 
meet there are still more curious. 

You enter a large hall divided into two apartments by a 
high wooden partition pierced in several places with little 
holes or windows. The room is plain and unfurnished, 
lighted frequently by high grated windows which leave the 
larger portion of it in a deep shade. That part occupied by 
the officials is brilliantly lighted, and the rays which stream 
from it make the public room seem even more gloomy. 
Rows of wooden benches are ranged along the room, for the 
convenience of })ersons awaiting their turn at the window. 
These benches are usually quite full, and it is interesting, 
and often painful to watch the faces and actions of the per- 
sons in waiting. Some are full of impatience, some sad and 
desponding, some careless, some cynical, and some angry 
with fortune. All are silent, however, and pay no attention 
to their companions. All classes come here, the high and 
the low, the victims of extravagance as well as the victims 
of poverty. 

This stout fellow dressed in a workman's blouse has a sad 
face which tells his story plainl3^ He is out of woi-k and 
has not succeeded in getting another place, and has come to 

* Literally, "The Nail.'' 



598 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

pledge liis bed for the means to ward off hunger until he can 
find employment. He leans wearily on the window-sill as 
his pledge is accepted, thinking no doubt that he will fare 
badly to-night, and taking his receipt and his money walks 
silently away, and as he goes you notice that he is almost in 
rags. It is a mere trifle that he carries away with him, and 
will not last him long. Then, Heaven help him if he has not 
found work. After him comes a man in a blouse, still more 
wretched in appearance. His wild eyes and bloated features 
tell you too plainly why he has sought the Mont de Piete. 
He pawns his coat for a few sous, and hastens to the nearest 
wine shop to drown his soul in brandy or absinthe. This 
girl who trips so daintily up to the window, dressed in silks 
and ribbons, you may see to-night on the streets seeking to 
ensnare some victim into her toils. She draws from her ears 
the pretty pendants some simpleton has given her, and care- 
lessly hands them to the ofl&cial. They are worth forty 
francs, and she receives twenty for them. She commences a 
pert expostulation, but a look from the official silences her, 
and she snatches up the money and receipt, and flirts down 
the room tossing her head in idle wrath. She wanted more 
but she knows she must take the sum offered her, or nothing 
at all. She is followed by a woman, whose dress tells you 
she is from the provinces, and you know from her appear- 
ance that she is a wife and mother. She has come to Paris 
with her husband and children, the good man hoping to bet- 
ter their condition. They have been unfortunate, and she 
has come to pledge some of her household linen. She hopes 
to redeem it soon — perhaps before the year is out. It is her 
first visit here. Will it be her last ? This young woman, 
stealing up so timidly, and with such a modest blush on her 
pretty face, is also a wife and a mother, but she is very 
young. The husband lies sick in the great Hdtel Dieu^ and 
the young wife works hard to provide for herself and the 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AXD GASLIGHT. 509 

babj who is with the good Sisters at the " Crib," and to buy 
some little comforts for the husband. It .is a weary task, 
though, and once or twice before she has come to the Mont 
de Piete, and has left pledges which she may never redeem. 
The skies seem very dark to her now, and she comes to pledge 
that which she values most of all her little store — the " blessed 
piece." These " blessed pieces" are very dear to the French 
working-women. They toil hard and save what they can. When 
they have accumulated five francs, they exchange their small 
coins for a silver piece of that sum, and carry it to the priest who 
blesses it. It is then honored above all their savings, and is 
regarded as a charm, a sort of "lucky penny," and only the 
direst poverty can induce them to part with it, and it is for the 
baby and the sick husband that the little wife pledges it now. 
She receives four francs and a half for it, and will have to pay 
the full value of the coin when she redeems it. It is a hard 
bargain, but she is thankful for it, and goes away thinking 
that the little purchases she will provide will make the sick 
husband better. 

It is a cold, hard place, truly, dear reader, but you little 
know of the quiet heroism it witnesses daily. They throng 
here, year after year, pledging articles of every description 
and of all values. It is said that the average value of the 
pledges is seven francs. For many of the articles only a few 
sous are given. The sum total is enormous, however. 
During the year 1865 the operations of the establishment ex- 
ceeded thirty millions of francs. 

The Central Establishment is one of the most curious 
places in Paris. The ground floor is fitted up Avith store- 
I'ooms for the safe keeping of new goods and other new arti- 
cles pawned by merchants and dealers. Such objects as are 
too large or too heavy to be stored on the upper floors, or in 
the towers, are also given a place here. On this floor you 
will find a curious collection of coco- water fountains. Many 



600 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

of them jou have seen on the backs of the venders of this 
beverage iu the summer. There is no demand for it in the 
winter, and the dealers pawn their equipments here during 
that season, betaking themselves to other avocations until 
the return of spring, when they redeem their pledges and re- 
new their operations. On the first floor are kept the most 
valuable pledges. This is the quarter of the aristocracy, 
and you will find here jewels, and gold, and silver articles of 
all kinds to the amount of millions of francs. The upper 
classes live fast, and often need money. The Mont de Piete 
preserves well the confidences entrusted to it, and they come 
here because their necessities will not be known. This floor 
affords a strange contrast to the rest of the building. The 
second floor is devoted to wearing apparel and household 
dry goods. The collection is extensive, and comprises every 
article used for dress, for the toilette, or for the house, of 
every variety, fashion, and texture, from the richest silks 
and satins to the coarsest "home-spun." They are arranged 
in separate packages on wooden shelves. The walls of the 
stairways and of the rooms devoted to that purpose, are lined 
with pictures of all kinds. The top floor contains the 
mattrasses and bedding of the poor, and many other objects 
of poverty. It is a wretched collection, and the room is 
filled Avith a strong and sickening odor. 

Bach article pledged has a ticket attached to it correspond- 
ing with that given to the borrower, and the numbers on 
these tickets, together with a description of the pledges, the 
amount advanced, and the sum due the establishment, are 
entered in a register kept for the purpose. Every article 
that can be named can be found here, some of great value 
and some that you would call trash. Yet the establishment 
receives everything, for it finds a ready sale for all unre- 
deemed pledges, and is satisfied with the rate of interest it 
receives. 



X L 1 1. 

TRICKS OF THE TRADK. 

Co:\iPETiTiOiSr in Paris is reduced to a science. If you wish 
to see this art in practice, go to the galleries of the Palais 
Eo3^al, where a dozen separate shops devoted to the same 
branch of trade stand side by side, and purchase the same 
article in each. You will come away with the firm convic- 
tion that of all shrewd men, the Parisian merchants take the 
first rank. 

The shops of Paris are small, as a general rule. I have 
seen almost fabulous displays of wealth, in a room too small 
to serve as the counting room of a Broadway house. Mer- 
chants here do not care to spend large sums on rents, and 
many reh^ upon the display which they make in their win- 
dows. One of the principal jewellers of the Rue de la Paix 
offers his gorgeous wares in a shop which a witty young 
American describes as so small that the proprietor has to 
stand outside when purchasers come in. It is no exaggera- 
tion to say that in the majority of the retail stores of Paris, 
the greater portion of the stock is displayed in the windows. 
These displays are generally very beautiful, and are always 
arranged with great taste. They form one of the prettiest 
features of the streets. Indeed, one thing that gives tliese 
streets so bright and cheerful an air, is that each shop window 
has almost always a crowd of animated chattering Parisians 
gathered around it, admiring its beauties. Almost every 
article so displayed has its price affixed to it in plain figures, 
so that one may examine nearly the entire stock and ascer 

GOl 



G02 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

tain the prices of sucli articles as he wishes to purchase, 
without once entering the shop. 

As I have said already, the Parisian shopkeepers are 
usually shrewd persons. Many of them are women. Nearly 
all the retail shops employ women as salesmen. Some of 
them are very pretty, and all are vivacious and have the 
gift of worrying strangers into purchasing. It is the custom 
to sell on credit to parties of responsibility, but as an induce- 
ment to persons to buy for cash, all articles sold for ready 
money are ten per cent, cheaper than those sold on credit. 
The dealers readily detect a stranger, however fluently he 
may speak their language, and the best plan is for a visitor 
to the city to have the articles sent with the bills to his 
banker, who will pay the charges and secure to him the 
benefit of the discount. Usually the banker divides the dis- 
count with the purchaser, who, even under this arrangement, 
will save five per cent. 

Many of the shops exhibit a placard bearing the words, 
" English spoken liere^ Avoid them by all means. Their' 
English is not often better than your French, and you are 
sure to be charged roundly for the privilege of hearing your 
native tongue spoken. 

Nearly all the business houses of the city are dedicated to 
some patron Saint or devil, or some historical personage. 
You will see signs by the score in your walks through the 
city, such as '•'■ Maison de la belle Jardinilre^'' ^^ Au Petit /Saint- 
Thomas,^^ '■'■ Au Bon Diahle,''^ "J. la Beine des Fleurs,''^ "J. la 
Pensee^ * These inscriptions are extremely puzzling to a 
stranger, who is more than half tempted to regard them as 
the proper " signs " of the firm doing business in the house. 

One of the most curious establishments in the city is the 

* " House of the Beautiful Gardener," " To little Saint Thomas," 
" To the flood Devil," " I'o the Queen of the Flowers," "To Thought." 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 603 

immense bazar opposite the Chateau d'Eau, called the Maga- 
sins-Reunis. It is simply a collection of shops under one 
enormous roof, a|id consolidated under the management of 
one company. The company has a capital of twelve million 
francs, and does an enormous business. All purchases are 
for cash, and tlie purchaser is guaranteed the full reimburse- 
ment of the amount expended. " When he makes a purchase 
of one hundred francs' worth of groceries, he receives a card 
promising at the end of a term of years to give him its full 
value in groceries, or jewelry, if he wishes, on presentation. 
If he buys an ounce of tobacco, the guarantee is the same." 

The tobacco shops are generally very little establishments, 
scarcely more than a box. The manufacture of the weed is 
a government monopoly, and the State also regulates the 
sale of it. The number of shops is limited, and thus a cer- 
tain trade is secured to each one. The proprietors are often 
persons who have served the State or City faithfully, and 
who are rewarded for their devotion with these snug little 
places. Almost every one in Paris uses tobacco, and the 
trade is exceedingly profitable. The tobacconists also sell 
postage stamps. 

All sorts of expedients are resorted to to promote trade. 
The majority of the dealers advertise liberally, and many 
offer amazing discounts. Not long since a butcher announced 
that a five franc gold piece would be found in one out of 
every hundred sausages sold in his shop. His announcement 
produced the desired result, and the demand for sausages 
was enormous. A clever writer thus describes some of the 
means resorted to by the Parisians to make known their 
wares : 

"The numerous gigantic advertising sheets which rise, in 
Paris, into the air, in the form of seven-storied, colored walls, 
form a singular blue-book of Parisian industry. Let us ex- 
amine the first on which our eves fall. 



604 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

" On the top of it a dentist reminds suffering humanity, in 
golden letters a yard long, of the perishable character of our 
teeth. Eight below, husbands have an opjortunity to make 
observations in regard to the whims of their fashionable 
wives; the reclame is a sign of a dry goods store. Beside it 
figures, with black letters on a red ground, a liquor dealer 
who has succeeded in solving the important problem of furn- 
ishing lovers of strong drink with genuine Jamaica rum at 
If. oOc, a bottle, and excellent Cognac brandy at If. 20c., not 
to speak of Bordeaux wine at twelve sous a litre. The third 
reclame on the same line is that of a perfumery dealer, who 
assures the public that his ottar of roses and his soaps are ne 
jjIus ultra of perfumery, and exclusively possess the power 
of rejuvenating old-looking faces. Below these dry goods, 
liquor and perfumery dealers, we read the reclame of a com- 
pany bent a tout prix on promoting the welfare of mankind, 
inasmuch as it offers to it cliocolate at the wonderfully low 
price of twenty-four sous a pound. The lowest reclame is a 
real monster of a sign — that of an artist, a photographer, who 
invites beautiful and ugly persons to have their portraits 
taken at his establishment, at the rate of from one to twenty 
fi'ancs and more ; and the sign of a coal and fuel dealer, who 
holds out the most tempting promises to those who wish to 
warm themselves. 

"But the indefatigable, all-devouring press is likewise 
represented on the Parisian walls. But it attaches its pro- 
duction only to such walls as do not contain the dreaded 
words, ' defense d'cifficher,^ (post no bills,) only official publica- 
tions, such as the Emperor's throne speeches, etc., do not 
allow themselves to be frightened bacl^ from an}'" walls by 
these words. 

" In such a field the desire for publicity develops itself with 
surprising rapidity. He who has a few sous to spend for 
posters, causes them to be printed and posted, if possible, on 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 605 

the walls of new-built houses. Celebrated quacks who liave 
discovered new remedies for killing tape- worms ; amiable 
manufacturers of insect powder, who boast of having put an 
end to the lives of millions of blood-thirsty fleas and disa- 
greeable cockroaches, and of having received various prize 
medals therefor; disinterested makers of boots and shoes, 
bent only on keeping the feet of their fellow-men warm, and 
willing to part for the low price of six dollars with any pair 
of their patent-leather or water-proof boots ; talented pianists 
who got the consumption at the court of his Majesty So-and- 
so, under the load of the laurel- wreaths showered upon them, 
and anxious, previous to their demise, to delight and make 
happy the audiences of Paris ; humane glovers who think 
themselves in duty bound to furnish constantly new gloves 
to the fashionable world ; teachers claiming to be familiar 
with ten languages, and read}^ to teach the easier ones of 
them, for instance German, in twenty-five lessons, with the 
same fidelity with which a doctor administers a spoonful of 
medicine to his patient. But we would not be able to ex- 
haust this list of sharp intellects, eager to turn to account 
the desire of man for making himself comfortable and adding 
to his personal appearance. 

" If the printed Avail reclame loses some of the majestic 
attitude and dignity of the painted one, this is still more the 
case with the street reclame. The small bills and circulars, 
distributed at all corners to the passers-by, by hunchbacks 
and others, invalids in or without uniform, when put together 
form a little work, giving us interesting glimpses of the 
industrial and whole public life of the French capital, but 
Avhich, at the same time, may be called a chronique scandaleuse 
of Parisian competition. 

" The most conspicuous element of this chronique are the 
reclame of the manufacturers. These gentlemen take the 
field against one another with the utmost disdain of death, 



606 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

compared vvitli which even the heroism of a Don Quixote is 
eclipsed. Their missiles are hurled into the world in prose 
and in verse. To attain their ends they resort to the most 
absurd and ridiculous things. A firm of the Chausse d'Antin 
is ' ready to sell its goods at 33 per cent, less than cost price ; 
150,000 Cashmere shawls are to be sacrificed to the public' 
Such self-abnegation was unknown even to the ancient Greeks 
and Romans. 

" Next to the manufacturers, the owners of small restau- 
rants principally advertise their business in this manner. 
All day long cards and circulars of restaurants are distribu- 
ted in the principal streets of Paris, but especially during the 
hour preceding dinner-time, when there is a regular deluge 
of these advertisements. The proprietors of the 'Petit 
Rocher de Cancale' and other restaurants hold out to their 
guests the most tempting promises. A dinner at If. 75c., 
for instance, consists of a plate of soup, a piece of boiled beef, 
an entremet^ a plate of vegetables, a piece of roast beef, a dish 
of salad, half a bottle of wine, and bread ad libitum. A poor 
devil, who is gulled by the low prices and goes to the res- 
taurant in question, gets all that the bill of fare promises, but 
of what quality ? The soup, not too salty, but without a parti- 
cle of strength ; the meat lean, dry, and utterly exhausted ; 
as to the wine, for God's sake do not ask me to describe it. 

" We now come to the host of other street reclames. Here 
a philanthropist asks the public to try his Northern Elixir 
of Health. Nectar, he says, compared to his, is mere water. 

" ' This way, this way !' shouts their M. Billardius. ' A 
great prize contest on the billiard-table between myself and 
Mr, X. Partie en 3,000 points.' At the bottom of this lit- 
tle bill we read the words, ' This coffee house is the largest 
in France. Breakfast two francs. Meals and liquors of the 
best quality.' 

" ' I,' exclaims a modest disciple of St. Crispin, ' I am a 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 607 

unique fellow in tlie capital. Superliuman efforts have ena- 
bled me not to use any more middle men for the sale of my 
superb and faultless goods. So tbey are astoundingly cheap,' 
etc. Twenty, thirty other bills contain almost the same 
words. We, therefore, pass on to the negro reclame. 

"Not content with turning art and industry to account for 
his private ends, the Parisian' manufacturer avails himself, 
also, not unfrequently of the physical differences of races to 
attain his object. Even though such a black child of the 
desert costs him several thousand francs a year, he willingly 
spends that sum. 

" But a short time since I saw how far the reclame furor of 
the Parisians will go. As I entered one of the liveliest 
streets of the capital, a large crowd, seemingly surging around 
the band of a regiment, approached me. What was it? A 
little negro, carrying on his breast and back a yoke like a 
painted sign, jumping at nearly every step, and kindly in- 
forming the curious crowd that his master had better Indian 
straw hats for sale than any body else in Paris. 

"Finally, there is a reclame of accidents purposely brought 
about. The secret of this kind of reclame is as follows : You 
go to a printer, cause him to print your card in large type, 
paste these cards on small packages of goods or little rolls of 
paper, put the whole lot of these packages into a box that is 
very imperfectly nailed together, put it on the back of your 
porter, or on a hand-cart, and instruct the porter carefully as 
to the course he is to pursue. He then leaves with tlie box, 
or with the box and the hand-cart, goes to a street where 
there is a crowd, and runs the box, as if accidentall}^, against 
a wall or against a wagon so that the box breaks asunder, 
and the contents roll out on the pavement. He then looks 
decidedly perplexed, and takes good care not to pick up the 
small packages, but leaves to play the same game somewhere 
else." 



XLIII. 

THE lA'RKETS. 

There is no city in the world so well supplied with mar- 
kets and retail provision shops as Paris. Butcher-shops and 
green groceries are scattered over the city iu every direction, 
and there are also several markets located at convenient 




Halles Centrales. 



points. The principal market is the immense structure 
called the Halles Centrales (Central Halls) in the Rues de la 
Tonnellerie and de Rambuteau. It stands on the site of the 
ancient Cemetery of the Innocents and adjoins the old Market 
of the Innocents, which was merely a collection of old sheds 
which the dealers had erected for the sale of their wares. In 
1852, the present elegant structure was begun. It is not yet 
completed, but when finished will cover about five acres of 
ground. Tlie establishment consists of a number of square 
008 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. G09 

pavilions connected by covered streets. The foundations are 
of brown stone, but the remainder of the structure is of iron 
and glass, and is light and tasteful in appearance. Stalls or 
shops, twelve feet square, are arranged in each pavilion, ex- 
cept that in which butter is sold by wholesale. The streets 
running through the building are paved with solid blocks of 
stone, and streams of fresh water covered with an open iron 
grating flow through every part of the buildings for the pur- 
pose of carrying away the filth. The sheds are very lofty 
and are beautifully constructed. Everything is clean and 
neat, and the roadway is firm and well swept. 

Entering the building from the Eue de la Tonnellerie, by 
the covered way which separates the two ranges of pavilions, 
you see first, on your right and left the two pavilions devo- 
ted to the sale of vegetables and fruits ; the next on the right 
is for the sale of butter by wholesale, and just opposite the 
pavilion for the sale of fish ; then come the pavilions for the 
sale of butter, cheese, and eggs by retail, together with the 
commoner utensils of household use, and earthenware vessels 
in particular ; and just opposite are pavilions for the sale of 
vegetables, poultry and game by retail. Passing these you 
come to the meat market, divided into wholesale and retail 
quarters. The retail department lies j«st opposite the church 
of Saint Eustache. Beneath this portion of the market is an 
immense cellar, supported by massive columns of cast iron, 
and lighted by openings closed with glass louvres. The 
meat is placed here for safe keeping, each dealer having his 
separate "lock-up." An immense tank is built here in 
which fish are preserved alive. 

Tlie display in the market is of the verj- best kind. The 
meat is all fresh and is dressed in the best and most conveni- 
ent manner. It is sold in the mass by the wholesale dealer, 
and is prepared by the retail merchant to suit his custom. 
You buy it here already skewered, tied and arranged for 
39 



610 PARIS BY SU>f LIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

cooking. It is all ticketed by the official inspector, and 
these tickets are sure guarantees of its quality. The fowls 
and game are in equally good condition, the inspection being- 
very rigid with them. The eggs are all of the same size. 
The inspector passes them through a ring, and all which are 
too small to fill up the circumference are thrown out. Good 
beef sells for about eighteen cents (American money), a 
pound, and veal for the same price ; butter, from twenty-two 
to sixty cents a pound, according to quality ; eggs from ten 
to thirty cents a dozen, according to the supply ; chickens, 
about thirty cents a piece, and partridges the same. Eabbits 
are offered here alive, and are killed and dressed after the 
sale is effected. You buy your fresh fish, crabs, lobsters 
and eels alive, so that you run no risk of finding them spoilt 
when you come to eat them. The vegetables are prettily 
arranged, and are generally good, though some of them do 
not compare with similar products of the Avestern world. 
Asparagus is very high. The best comes from Argenteuil, 
and brings as much as three and four dollars a bunch. " Fresh 
peas shelled twenty cents ; cherries, four to six cents per 
pound; strawberries, from four to ten cents per pound; cur- 
rants and gooseberries, two cents ; potatoes, about one dollar 
per bushel. But-we have no less than' forty -six varieties of 
potatoes — not hardly one of which resembles Parmenter's 
importations in the slightest degree. Many of our species 
are vastly superior to anything known in America. Sweet 
potatoes are only to be found in the colon}'- of Algiers, and 
are not appreciated in Paris. Apples are very fine and very 
cheap — the best in the world are the St. Germain and the 
Calvie. As to the variety of pears, a nurserjauan in the 
valley of the Loire has over seven hundred varieties, and 
with all the demand for the exportation of the trees and of 
consumption in Paris, we cannot have a fine pear under ten 
cents, and may pay three dollars a piece for them in this city. 



o 

p 

e-t- 
8» 




611 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



6i: 



Bread is cheap — four cents per pound for the '^x«n de menarje^ 
or what the working chisses are glad to eat, and which is 
really choice bread, far surpassing the ordinary qualities of 
England and America — up to eight cents, which is the high- 
est price at present paid for the choicest sorts. Crackers are 
consumed in very small quantities." 

The best hour for seeing the markets is early mor:iing. 
Then the throng of purchasers is thickest, and business is at 
its height. 

In one quarter of this immense building are the stalls 
devoted to the sale of half consumed victuals, which traffic has 
already been described in the chapter on restaurants. 




Flower Market. 



The flower markets are five in number. They are merely 
collections of light, movable stands, covered for the protec- 
tion of the merchants and their wares. They are held in the 



G14 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

various parts of the city on different days of the week, open- 
ing at sunrise, and closing at sunset. On Monday and Thurs- 
day a flower market is held at the Chateau d'Eau ; on Tues- 
day and Friday, on the esplanade to the east of the Church 
of the Madeleine ; on "Wednesday and Saturday, just behind 
the Tribunal of Commerce in the Cit^. On Monday and 
Thursday markets are also held in the square in front of the 
Church of Saint Sulpice, and just back of the Hotel de Yille. 
The merchants are generally women or young girls, and are 
clad oftentimes in bright, picturesque dresses. The display 
of flowers is very fine, and the prices moderate as a rule. A 
more beautiful sight than one of these flower markets is not 
to be found in all the city. 

The French are passionately fond of flowers, and spend 
large sums upon them. The great ladies when they have 
lost all interest in everything else turn to these pretty orna- 
ments with a singular passion. But they are not the only 
ones whose passion for flowers is a distinguishing feature. 
'■' Quite cbntrary to the great Parisian lady, who only loves 
flowers when she has nothing else left to love, the Parisian 
grisette loves flowers before she begins to love anything else. 
The latter commences as the former finishes. There is not 
in all Paris, in the melancholy heights, in the sloping garrets, 
where the house sparrow hardly dares to take his flight lest 
he should be giddy — a single girl, poor and alone, who does 
not come at least once a week to this flower market, to enjoy 
the spring and the sky. As neither verdure, nor the sun, 
nor the brilliancy of flowers, nor the song of birds, comes to 
seek her in the frightful corners where she conceals her six- 
teen years, it is she herself who goes in search of them. * * 
Of all the honest people who gain their living by buying and 
selling, the flower women, has, without contradiction, the 
most upright conscience, and the most sincere good faith. 
She sells at a high price to the rich, but a very low one to 
the poor. She thinks she ought to encourage so good a pas- 
sion, and that it is much better for this young girl to buy a 
flower, to ornament her wretched little room, than a ribbon 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



615 



to adorn herself. Thus she sells her pot of piignonette or 
sweet peas, almost for nothing. And then the young grisette 
goes away more happy and more triumphant, than if she had 
in the presence of a notary, purchased a whole domain." 

In the square of Saint Martin you may witness every Sun- 
day the holding of the Bird Market. It is located just back 
of the Conservatoire des Arts et Metiers, and is well attendee 1. 







Bird Market. 



Every Sunday a large and varied collection of birds is offered 
here for sale. Here are natives of the Empire, birds from 
every country of Europe, tropical birds, and every species 
of the feathered tribe. The cages are of every conceivable 
shape and pattern, f\nd are generally sold with their occu- 
pants. The dealers are oftentimes amusing fellows, and the 
crowd assembled around them is always a study. 

The Grass or Forage Market is held daily in the Boulevard 



616 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



d'Enfer, and is worth seeing, as the visitor will find here a 
large collection of peasants and small proprietors, who have 
come in from the country to sell their crops. 

The Horse Marhet is in the Boulevard de I'Hopital, and is 
held twice a week. The collection of horses to be found 
here is interesting, but the animals are chiefly, if not entirely, 
beasts of burden. On Sunday the place is occupied by a 
dog market. 

The French Taiiersall, in the Rue Beaujon, near the 




Tattersall. 



Champs Elysees, is the best place for purchasing blooded 
stock, or horses for private use. These animals are disposed 
of here by public sales every Thursday, and in private, every 
day. You will generally find a good selection here, and the 
place is worth visiting by those who do not care to purchase, 
inasmuch as many of the best horses of the city are kept at 
livery. Carriages, harness and hunting equipages may also 
be purchased here, and everything necessary to a complete 
outfit be procured. ' 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 617 

The Cattle Markets are at Poissj, Sceaux, and La Chapelle, 
but are soon to be replaced by a commodious structure at La 
Villette, which is to be provided with stalls for five thousand 
oxen and thirty thousand sheep. 

The Market of the Temple, in the Kue du Temple, near the 
Boulevard of the same name, is devoted to the sale of clothing. 
It was originally opened in a part of the gardens of the Tem- 
])le, and was a wretched collection of slieds. The old market 
has been replaced by a handsome structure of iron, contain- 
ing two thousand stalls. Here are kept articles of male and 
female attire of every grade and price. The greater portion 
of the establishment forms a handsome bazar, but the re- 
mainder is devoted to the sale of* second-hand clothing, and 
constitutes one of the most remarkable sights of the city. 
The dealers pay about five centimes a day for the privilege 
of selling here, and, in addition to this, pay a tax of twenty 
centimes on each bundle introduced into the establishment, 
for sale by them. Consequently they make their bundles as 
large as possible. The market is open from eight o'clock in 
the morning until mid-day. The dealers collect around the 
gates as early as five o'clock, and take their places in line. 
As the gates are opened, they rush in and fill the place. The 
sc#ne is curious, indeed. The dealers have a language, or 
argot, of their own, and address each other and the old habi- 
tues of the place in a tongue which only those accustomed to 
i-t can understand. They are keen, shrewd-looking people, 
many of them Jews. Their wares consist of clothing of 
almost every fashion and material ever dreamed of, and their 
practices are not generally open to inspection. Indeed, even 
in the better portion of the place one must have his wits 
about him, for the whole establishment is a mammoth Chat- 
bam Street. 



XLIV. 
CHARITABLE INSTITUTIONS. 

I. 

THE HOSPITALS. 

There is no city in the world so well supplied with hospi- 
tals and other charitable establishments where suffering of 
all kinds is relieved without charge to the sufferer. There 




Hospital of La Piti6. 

are sixteen hospitals in the city, containing seven thousand 
and fifty two beds. Every description of disease, every 
species of suffering has an establishment especially devoted 
618 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND G.ASLIGUT. 619 

to its relief. One of the best is for poor women unable to 
defray the expenses of a confinement. Two are set apart for 
the treatment of incurable patients, and eight are for the 
general treatment of acute diseases. Any one, sick and una- 
ble to pay, is admitted free, and is provided with the best of 
treatment until his or her recovery. Besides this, the physi- 
cians and surgeons in charge of the establishments hold 
gratuitous consultations every morning at each hospital. 
Medicines and such treatment as may be necessary are given 
on the spot to those who do not need to be placed in the 
hospital. There is also a Central Bureau at which applica- 
tion may be made for admission to any hospital in the city 
for treatment. Each hospital contains from three to eight 
hundred beds. About six thousand patients are usually 
under treatment, and about ninety thousand receive treatment 
during the year. The hospitals are attended by the Sisters 
of the various orders of the Catholic Church, and are in 
charge of the most eminent physicians and surgeons of 
France, such men as MM. Nelaton, Kicord, Yelpeau, and 
Chassaignac. About twenty-tw^o millions of francs are annu- 
ally expended in conducting the hospitals of Paris, The 
city makes an appropriation of twelve millions of francs, 
some of the patients pay for the services rendered them, 
bequests are constantly made to the various establishments, 
and the Government levies a tax of ten per cent, of the gross 
receipts of all places of public amusement for this purpose. 
The general supervision of the hospitals is vested in the 
" General Committee for Public Assistance." 

The principal hospitals are the Hotel Dieu, the Charite, 
the Pitic, and the Hospitals Lariboisiere, jSTecker and Saint 
Antoine. 

The Ildiel Dieu is the oldest and, until very recently, was 
the largest hospital in the city. It is located in the old Cite, 
in the great square of Notre Dame. It is said to have ex- 
isted here as far back as the reign of Clovis. Philip Augus- 
tus enlarged it, and Saint Louis and Henry IV. conferred 
many privileges upon it. It is a heavy, time-worn edifice. 



620 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



occupying both banks of the river, the two portions being 
connected by means of a covered bridge. It is badly located 
and inconveniently arranged, and the older portions are said 
to be unhealthy. A new hospital is in course of erection on 
the opposite side of the island. As at present arranged, the 
establishment contains eight hundred and fifty-four beds for 
medicine, accouchements and surgery. It is attended by eight 
doctors and three surgeons, and is provided with two clinical 
medical, and two clinical surgical professorships. 

The routine in most of the hospitals is about the same 




Hotel Dieu. 

The wards are scrupulously clean, and the floors are polished 
and bare. Down each side of the room, is a row of beds 
hung with snowy curtains, leaving the middle of the floor 
free. A card is affixed to the foot of each bed, stating the 
name, residence, disease, and time of entering the hospital, of 
the patients. You will find the good Sisters of Charity in 
great numbers in every hospital. They are most devoted 
nurses, and by their gentle and tender ministerings do much 
good in this world au i lay up for themselves a rare treasure 



iiir 




622 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 623 

iu tlie home where " neither moth nor rust doth corrupt and 
where thieves do not break through nor steal" They 
shrink from no danger, from no labor in their holy .work, 
but incur fatigues untold and freely expose themselves in 
nursing contagious and infectious diseases. Some of them 
are young and pretty, and you wonder why they should de- 
vote themselves to such a service if it be not for the love of 
the Master. 

Each physician has two wards, with about eighty patients, 
under his care. Every morning at eight o'clock, a number 
of students and attendants of the hospital collect in the phy- 
sician's room, and accompany him in his rounds. He passes 
from bed to bed, questioning the patients and prescribing the 
treatment to be pursued for the next twenty-four hours. 
These directions are carefully written down by one of the 
assistants, in a book kept for the purpose. The visits are 
brief, but the examination is thorough. Occasionally the 
business-like manner of the doljtor changes as he pauses by 
the side of some little child, and his voice will take a tenderer 
tone, for there are few things that touch these great lights of 
the healing art so much as the sufferings of childhood. 

In the surgical wards the same system is pursued. The 
cases are minutely described to the students, and the opera- 
tions performed in their sight. Dr. Chassaignac usually 
reserves the cases which do not need his immediate attention 
until Monday morning, when his clinique is held in the am- 
phitheatre of his hospital. At this time he performs the 
operations in the presence of an immense number of students, 
the patients being placed under the influence of chloroform 
in all severe cases. To professional men, and lovers of the 
horrible, the scene is intensely interesting, as the most skilful 
operations to be witnessed in Paris take place here. 

Small-pox patients are admitted to all the general hospitals, 
there being no special establishment for them, and the gen- 
eral hospitals usually contain a considerable number of them. 
The physicians say their chances of recovery are much 
greater if scattered amongst other patients than if all were 



624 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

confined in the same wards. This may be true, but it doubt- 
less does not benefit the other inmates of the wards in which 
they are placed, who, if they had their choice, would prob- 
ably decline being found in such company. 

The Asylum of Vincennes, situated at the southern ex- 
tremity of the Wood, is one of the largest and handsomest of 
the modern establishments. It was founded by the Emperor 
Napoleon III., in 1855, and was opened in 1857. It is for 
men exclusively, and the preference is given, in receiving 
patients, to the workmen who may be wounded or taken sick 
in prosecuting the public works. 

Besides the hospitals, there are a number of establishments 
called Hospices^ which are designed to serve as " houses of 
retreat " for aged and' infirm persons. Many of these have 
been established and endowed by private liberality. 

The hospitals for the insane, blind, dumb, and other af- 
flicted persons are very numerous and are well managed. 
The immense Hospital of Bicetre was built by Louis XIII., 
and is one of the largest and best conducted. It shelters 
about two thousand old men, one-half of whom are afilicted 
with mental diseases. The department for lunatics is worth 
visiting, but can only be seen (as a special favor) by applica- 
tion, to the proper authorities. One of the curiosities of the 
place is an immense well, seventeen feet eight inches wide 
and one hundred and seventy-six feet deep. It is cut in the 
solid rock, and is inexhaustible. 

I cannot undertake to name all of the charitable asylums 
of the great city, and can only say that, no matter in what 
form or by whom aid may be desired, it is given here by some 
oro;anized institution. 



II. 

THE FOUNDLING HOSPITAL. 

.Oecidedly one of the most interesting of the charitable 
establishments of tlie city is the Foundling Hospital^ estab- 



';:'!!i!][iiri!iiiB^^^ 




40 



625 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. l<2 / 

lislied by Saint Vincent de Paul in 1640. It is very largo, 
is amply provided with every comfort, and is attended by 
the Sisters of St. Vincent de Paul. 

The object is to provide for children abandoned in infancy 
by their parents, and thus diminish the extent of the crime 
of infanticide. Some years ago a revolving box was placed 
near the street entrance. Persons wishing to abandon their 
children had only to place the child in the box and ring the 
bell. The box was at once turned into the inner part of the 
building by the watcher, and the child given to the care of 
the good Sisters. Now, it is necessary to present the child 
at the ofl&ce of the institution and produce a certificate 
signed by the Commissary of Police of the district in which 
the mother resides; and the authorities also require her 
name and place of residence. Every eftbrt is made to per- 
suade the mother to retain the care of her child, and, if she 
consents to do so, she is assisted in maintaining it from the 
hospital fund. If she insists upon abandoning it, however, 
the child is received, and a record made of the circumstances 
of the case. Each child is numbered according to its arrival, 
the numbers beginning with "I" every year. About live 
thousand infants are annually received here ; but it is said 
that the prevalence of infanticide has increased so greatly 
since the abandonment of the revolving box, that the author- 
ities are seriously considering the propriety of restoring it. 
The majority of the children left here are illegitimate — the 
offspring of the sewing and shop girls, and those employed 
in the various trades of the great city. When their children 
are born, these women, if unwilling to retain them, can place 
them in this asylum, and thus the temptation to inflmticide is 
in some measure I'eraoved. Competent judges declare that 
this crime is generally committed in France, not so much 
through fear of shame and disgrace as from an unwillingness 
to see the little innocent lead a life of struggle and privation. 
The foundling hospital removes this fear to a great degree, 
and offers a safe asylum to the unfortunate children. The 
institution never loses sight of them alter being once placed 



628 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



in its charge, and if, at any time, a mother wishes to reclaim 
her child before it comes of age, she can do so by giving 
proof of good character and ability to support it. Only 
about one in a hundred "are thus reclaimed. Should the 
father wish to acknowledge or legitimatize his child, he can 
do so by simply acknowledging, it in due legal form. Out 
of fourteen thousand eight hundred and sixty-six illegitimate 
children born in Paris in a given year, three thousand six 
hundred were acknowledged in this way by their fathers. 




Interior of a Foiuidling Asylum. 



As soon as a child is received into the asylum, a ticket, 
inscribed with its number, is attached to its clothing. If it 
be in health, it is taken into the cr^cJie, and laid on a bench 
before the fire. Sometimes as many as half a dozen- little 
strangers are laid out in this way, side by side, before the 
briglit blaze. If it be ill or ailing, it is sent to the infirmary 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 629 

for treatment. Eows of cribs are arranged around the room, 
and these form the babies' beds after they are thoroughly 
warmed by the fire. Sometimes as many as a hundred chil- 
dren are collected here. 

At the earliest possible moment the children are sent into 
the country to be nursed. The Empire is regularly laid off 
into districts for this purpose. Each district is in charge of a 
director, whose duty it is to make a personal visit to all chil- 
dren put out to nurse in his district, and to report their con- 
dition to the institution. He is also charged with the daty 
of procuring good nurses, who are usually the wives of the 
better class of peasants, to whom the small sum paid for the 
care of the child is very welcome. They receive from thir- 
teen to eighteen francs per month for taking care of the chil- 
dren. The institution sees that the children are well nursed 
and treated, and watches over them with the greatest care 
until they come of age. Upon reaching the age of twelve 
years, the boys are usually bound out to learn some trade, 
and the girls, unless the families in which they have been 
raised should wish to adopt them, are furnished with places 
as domestics. If they conduct themselves with propriety 
they receive each from the asylum fund, a marriage portion 
of one hundred and forty-eight francs. It is said that at 
present, about forty-live thousand foundlings under age still 
remain under the kindly supervision of the asylum. 

There is another species of children's retreat at which, for 
about four cents (American money) per day, mothers may 
leave their children to be taken care of while they are at 
work. They must come and nurse them twice a day as long 
as they are young enough to need it. They are often at work 
as far as two miles from the " Crib," as it is called, but they 
trudge cheerfully over the long way twice a day to minister 
to the wants of tlieir little ones. 



XIV. 
THE CHAMPS DE MARS. 

To the westward of the Invalides is an immense fieJrl, 
three-quarters of a mile long and nearly a mile broad. It i.s 
beaten down and dusty, and you do not require a second 
glance to tell you that it is an immense drill ground. It is 
the famous Champs de Mars^ or "Field of March." The 
name seems to have been derived from the custom of the old 




Barracks of the Military School. 

Frankish kings to hold their great military gatherings in 
March. The Bridge of Jena connects it with the north shore, 
and there is a landing of the steamboat- omnibuses on the 
river shore just below. 

The field seems 'to have no history previous to the Revolu- 
tion. At the beginning of that great struggle it was simply 
630 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 631 

a dust heap, a dumping place for the trash of the city. In 
1790, however, a change came over it. When the solemn 
Feast of Confederation was proclaimed in France, this plain 
was selected as the scene of the event which was deemed so 
auspicious. It was in no condition for a ceremony of any 
kind, however, but the people of Paris resolved that it 
should be made so, and the whole population, without regard 
to age, sex, or rank, turned out with pickaxe and spade, and 
levelled the plain, after which they surrounded it with an 
earthen rampart, by which means it was converted into a 
species of amphitheatre, capable of containing half a million 
of people. The monarchy was in danger, and an effort was 
to be made to save it. In one week the field was ready, and 
on the Mth of July, 1790, the great festival took place. A 
monster altar was erected at the end towards the military 
sclioo], and around it were gathered the King, the Queen, 
and the nobles. Talleyrand, then Bishop of Autun, assisted 
by three hundred priests, performed a solemn mass, after 
which the king took the oath to the new Constitution, and 
it was repeated by the four hundred thousand people who 
filled the raised sides of the amphitheatre, and the sixty 
thousand armed men who surrounded the altar. The good 
people fondly believed that this beautiful ceremony was 
the close of their struggle. A little later, they looked 
back upon it as merely the beginning. The ramparts re- 
mained where they had been thrown up until the erection of 
the buildings for the Great Exhibition of 1867, when they 
were levelled. 

On the 16th of July, 1791, after the king was brought 
back from Varennes, a vast crowd of good patriots assembled 
around the " Altar of the country" which was still standing 
in the Champs de Mars, to clamor for his deposition. Laiay- 
ette and Bailly in endeavoring to disperse them, fired on the 
crowd and several hundred persons were killed. 

Several of the public events of the Eevolution occurred on 
this spot, and here, two days after his coronation. Napoleon 
I. distributed to his legions the eagles which led them to vie- 



632 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



tory at Austerlitz and Ulm. Again on the 1st of June, 1815, 
after bis return from Elba, the Emperor here proclaimed the 
Acte Additionel, and distributed to his troops the eagles which 
were conquered at Waterloo. And here it is, according to 
the legend which they tell around the camp-fires, the dead 
Emperor holds his midnight reviews of shadowy legions that 
march without roll of drum or blare of bug;le. 

When Charles X. found that he could no longer trust the 
National Guard, he dissolved them on this field, and commit- 
ted the error of leaving in their hands the arms with which 
they overthrew him at length. Louis Philippe delivered 
these same troops their colors here, after they had placed him 




Napoleon Barracks. 

on the throne in 1830; and in 1852, after the establishment 
of the present government, the Emperor Napoleon III. dis- 
tributed eagles here to 60,000 troops. In 1867 the field was 
covered with the buildings of the Great Exhibition, which 
have since been removed. 

The field is at present used for reviews, drills and other 
military exercises, and for the great national festivals of 
France. 

At the southern end stands the old Military School, com- 
menced in 1752 and finished in 1762, by Louis XV., for the 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 633 

gratuitous education of five hundred sons of poor noblemen, 
but more especially for the children of those who had perished 
in battle. The school was broken up in 1788, and in 1789 it 
was made a cavalry barracks. Napoleon had his headquar- 
ters here for some time. It is now a barracks for infantry, 
cavalrj^, and artillery. 

A number of very fine barracks have been erected in the 
city by the present Emperor. They form handsome addi- 
tions to the architecture of the city, and are located at points 
which were formerly centres of insurrection. The Napoleon 
Barracks behind the Hotel de Ville, is the finest in the city. 



XLYT. 
PARIS UNDERGKOUl^D. 
I. 

THE SEWERS. 

One of the most wonderful features of Paris is the system 
of sewers which underlies the city. By means of this im- 
mense net work of drains the filth and refuse matter of 
the city is collected and carried miles away, and the causes 
which once made Paris so sickly and unwholesome are thus 
removed. 

The total length of the sewers of Paris is about 433,338 
yards. Besides this, about 2,166 yards more are to be con- 
structed at some future. 

" To organize the net-work of the sewers," says M. Adolphe 
Joanne, '• the soil of the capital has been divided into five 
basins, of which three are on the right, and two are on the 
left bank of the Seine. 

"On ,the right bank, the first of these basins embraces 
Charonne, Belleville, and Montmartre ; the second, entirely 
central, comprises the quarters of Saint Antoine, the Temple, 
Saint Martin, Saint Denis, the Palais Koyal and the Tuileries; 
and the third is composed of the heights of Chaillot, the 
Roule, Monceaux and the Faubourg Saint Honore. On the 
left bank, one of the basins embraces the mount of the Deux- 
Moulins and the valley of the Bi^vre, and the other the quar- 
ters of the Luxembourg, Saint-Germain-des-Pres and the 
jrros Caillou. 

" Six great principal galleries, cutting the city nearly at 

634 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT A.ND GASLIGHT. 



6 



00 



right angles, and having for tributaries fifteen secondary 
galleries out of whicli branch a multitude of galleries of less 
importance, constitute the principal arteries of the net- work. 
Three of the six principal galleries are on the right bank; 
the first (4,330 yards) is that of the quays; the second (2,004 
yards) descends the boulevard S^bastopol, and joins the first 
at the Place du Chatelet ; finally the third runs from the Place 
de la Bastille to the Place de la Concorde, through the streets 
Saint- Antoine and de Eivoli, 




Subierraucan Paris 



" Besides these galleries of modern construction, there is 
also on the right bank a collector, which is no other than the 
old girdle sewer, formed of the stream from Mdnilmontant, 
which was covered (1740) by Turgot, provost of the mer- 
chants. 

" This sewer starts from the rue des Coutures-Saint-Gervais, 



636 



PARIS BY SUNLIGPIT AND GASLIGHT. 



follows the rue Yieille-du-Temple and that of the Filles-du- 
Calvaire, crosses the boulevards, follows the rue des Fosses- 
du-Temple, traversing the boulevard of the Prince-Eugene at 
its lower end, continues its course through the rues du 
Chateau-d'Bau, des Petites-£curies, Eicher, de Provence and 
de Saint-Nicolas-d'Antin and falls into the general collector 
of Asni^res under the boulevard Malesherbes. Formerly it 
emptied into the Seine at the foot of Chaillot. 




The Great Sewer. 



" Of the principal galleries on the left bank, the first (6930 
yards) includes the line of the quays from the Pont d'Auster- 
litz to the pont d'lena ; the second follows the boulevard 
Saint-Michel from the Place de I'Observatoire to the Pont 
Saint-Michel, and the third is that vast subterranean canal 
which receives the Bi^vre and which is to be continued to the 
rue Saint- Jacques, where it will join that long gallery into 
which falls the sewer of the boulevard Saint-Michel. 

"The sewers on the left bank, fall, like those on the right 
bank, into the collector of Asni^res under the Place de la 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 637 

» 

Concorde. They pass the Seine by means of a wrought iron 
siphon, over a yard in diameter and two hundred and seven- 
teen yards long, which enters the river a little above the 
Pont de la Concorde and at more than two yards below the 
low water line." 

Until within the past twenty years the filth of the city was 
thrown into the Seine immediately within the corporate 
limits, and the river was made even fouler than the Thames, 
at London. Now, the refuse is collected in this vast system 
of sewers, and carried far below the city and discharged into 
the stream in the midst of the green fields and fresh air, 
where the poisonous vapors are powerless for harm. 

II. 

THE CATACOMBS. 

The Catacombs of Paris form one of the most remarkable 
sights of the city, but only a very small portion of the 
visitors who come to the capital are ever gratified Avith a 
view of them. 

They were originally quarries from which the light 
colored stone used in building the city was drawn from the 
earliest times down to the Seventeenth Century. They are 
very extensive, and underlie a considerable portion of the 
south side of the river. They extend over at least a tenth 
]3art of the entire city, and have an extent of ajDout three 
millions of square yards. It is said that some of the branches 
even pass under the Seine and extend for a short distance 
into the northern part of the city. The distance from the 
surface of the ground to the bottom of the Catacombs, is about 
seventy English feet. The descent is by ninety steps, and 
though there are a number of entrances to them, visitors are 
usually admitted by the entrance at the Barrierc cVEnfer. 

After the excavations were abandoned as quarries, they 
seem to have been forgotten by the Parisians until 1774, 
when a house situated near the Barrih-e d ^Enfer suddenly 



638 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

sank down into a hole eighty feet deep. Similar accidents 
occurred in 1777, and the government fearing a repetition 
of them determined to take measures for strengthening the 
old quarries. Accordingly engineers were set to work, and 
since then the task has been regularly continued. The Cata- 
combs have been thoroughly serveyed and mapped with 
reference to the streets above, and the government makes an 
annual expenditure of one hundred thousand francs for sup- 
porting and propping the roofs of the caves, and building 
piers and buttresses so that there shall be no danger of further 
accidents. 

In 1781 the practice of making interments in the old 
Cemetery of the Innocents was discontinued. The cemetery 
was dangerous to the health of the community, and it was 
necessary to suppress it. Accordingly, the vast masses of 
bones which had accumulated in it were removed, and placed 
with religious ceremonies in the Catacombs. During the 
Revolution the churches and religious establishments were 
suppressed, and the bones of those who had been interred in 
them were transferred to the Catacombs. Many of the 
victims of that fierce struggle were also interred here. The 
bones of those killed in the various outbreaks since the 
Great Revolution have been placed here, and once in every 
five years the "common graves" in the great cemeteries of 
Pere la Chaise, Montmartre, and Mont Parnasse, are opened 
and the remains of the unknown and nameless occupants are 
transferred to the Catacombs. Six millions of skeletons 
people this wonderful city of the dead — three times as many 
as crowd the busy streets above — and every year the number 
increases. When the- bones were first placed here, they were 
thrown in a miscellaneous heap, but since 1812, that part of 
the Catacombs lying within the old Octroi wall, has been 
arranged in a singular but interesting manner. The re- 
mainder of the excavations form an intricate labyrinth with 
which even the engineers find it difficult to penetrate. 

It is at present very hard to procure admission to the 
caves. Formerly the privilege was accorded to every one, 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. G39 

but such a number of persons lost their way in the subter- 
ranean windings, and so many even perished here, that it 
was resolved to close them to the public. Once or twice a 
year the engineer in charge makes a tour of inspection, and 
then, as a rare favor, visitors are permitted to accompany 
him. 

The entrance is in the garden of the Octroi office, at the 
Barriere cVEnfer. You pass down a narrow winding stair- 
way of stone, of ninety steps, and at length find yourself at 
the level of the Catacombs, seventy feet below ground, in a 
tunnel about three feet wide and a little over six feet high. 
You pass on, following the guide, through a narrow passage, 




The Cutacoiiibs. 

often so low that your head touches the roof. The walls are 
cracked and the ceiling is in such a dilapidated condition that 
it seems to need but a touch of your hand to bring it down 
and crush you. The water drips steadily through these. 
cracks in most places, and in some it pours down in a considera- 
ble stream, causing you to thank Heaven that your inspection 
is made in your roughest clothes. Here and there, on either 
side of your route, are dangerous holes, so deep that vou can- 
not see the bottom, and every now and then you notice a side 



640 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

passage, on your riglit or left, leading off to the windings of 
the dark labyrinth. You are cautioned not to pause even to 
look into them, but to follow the guides diligently ; a mo- 
ment's inattention or pausing may separate you from them, 
for the windings are sharp and sudden, and the side passages 
so numerous that, oiice bewildered in them, you are almost 
sure to wander off into the unexplored portions. Signs and 
names of localities are cut on the walls to direct the officials, 
but they would be of little use to you. 

Fifteen or twenty minutes' walking will bring you to the 
heavy wooden door which marks the entrance to the- Cata- 
combs proper. The guides throw it open, and you pass in. 
Your first sensation is one of horror. The vault is here 
about ten feet high, and the passage much wider than that by 
which you have come from the stairway. On each side of 
you, as far as you can see, is a wall of thigh and shin bones, 
ornamented with three rows of ghastly skulls. The first row 
is about three feet from the ground, and the others about the 
same distance from each other. This wall reaches nearly to 
the roof, and behind it and on top of it the smaller bones are 
thrown without regard to order or system. The skulls are 
toothless in some instances, but contain a few hideous teeth 
in others. Plow they grin at you! How they seem to m-ock 
your vigor and comeliness, telling you plainer than words 
could, that it is all vain, that, a few short years at the best, 
and you must be as they ! The place has a damp, sickly 
smell, and the torches only add to its horrors with their feeble 
rays. Six millions of skeletons are around you, and you are 
indeed in the realm of the departed. Call your reason to 
your aid, summon up all your indifference. It is all vain. 
The spell of this terrible city of silence is upon you, and you 
cannot shake it off. 

Several miles of these walls of bones and skulls lie alono- 
your route, and yet they form only one three hundredth part 
of the excavations. Nearly all the corridors are arranged 
upon the same plan. The bones gathered from the same 
cemetery are arranged in one collection, and a slab is placed 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 641 

in the wall to indicate the locality tliey came from. At 
intervals of a few feet are inscriptions set into the wall of 
bones and hideous skulls. Some of these are very appropri- 
ate, as the following will sliow : 

'' La mort nous confoncle ious sous un meme niveau ; la distance 
des ranges se j^erd dans le tombea.n.r — " Death sinks us all to the 
same level, and the differences of rank are lost in the tomb." 

" Venez gens du monde, dans ces demeures silencieuses, ei voire 
tranquilite sera frap2:)e de la voix qui s'eMve de lew inierieurr 
— " Come, people of the world, into these silent dwellings, 
and your tranquillity will be broken by the voice that rises 
from them." 

" Sewreux celui qui a ioujours devant ses yeux, Vheure de sa 
rnoiiJ^ " Happy is he who has always before his eyes the hour 
of his deatli." 

Other places have crosses made of skulls set in the walls, 
and in one place is a well of pure water, which has been 
enclosed with stone-work. Above it are inscribed the words 
of the Saviour to the Samaritan woman at Jacob's well. It 
is called the "Samaritan's fountain." 

The bones are of a deep brown color, and all seem to be in 
an excellent state of preservation. They form a wonderful 
and terrible spectacle. For several miles they are ranged on 
either hand, dry and fleshless as those which the prophet saw 
in his vision. Six millions of skeletons, not perfect, but 
broken apart, and arranged without regard to those whose 
eartlil}'' frames they once formed. The fellow to this arm 
may be a mile away, or that leg may lie next to the skull of 
one who lived centuries before him. Could they start up 
now, clothed with flesh and filled with life, what a wonderful 
throng they would make, reaching back, as they do, almost 
to the days when Captain Labienus halted his legions under 
the walls of Lutetia. 

They say these old vaults were once the haunts of thieves 

and robbers, and that even now there are secret entrances, 

unknown even to the police, by which fugitives from justice 

enter and conceal themselves. Few, I fancy, ever come to 

41 



642 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

this part of the excavations, for, apart from its being well 
known to the authorities, it is too terrible a place for even 
the most hardened to remain in for more than a brief period. 
Your inspection of the vaults is over; and half a mile from 
the "Samaritan's fountain" you come to a circular stairway, 
by wliich you ascend, and emerge once more into the open 
air in another quarter of the city, and half a mile away from 
the spot at wbich you entered. The sunshine dazzles your 
eyes, so long accustomed to the gloom, and you find that the 
bright world in whicb you live never looked so strange to 
you as it does now, as you emerge from the lonely and dis- 
mal land of the dead. 



XL VI I. 

DEAD PARIS. 

I. 

THE CEMETERIES. 

Until the beginning of the present century, it was the 
custom in Paris, as in all Europe, to bury the dead either in 
churches or in the small yards attached to them. It is said 




Cemetery of Montmartre. 

that Napoleon I. was the first to conceive the idea of making 
a cemetery outside the walls of Paris, he having seen a similar 
arrangement at Frankfort, in Germany. Several large ceme- 
teries are now in use. They were originally located in the 

643 



644 TAUIS BY SUNLIGHT AXD GASLIGHT. 

suburbs, but since the extension of the corporate limits 
from the old Octroi wall to the fortifications, they have formed 
part of the city. 

The oldest of these is the Cemetery of Montmartre, located 
on the heights of the same name, in the northern portion of 
Paris. It was originally a gypsum quarry, but has been so 
much enlarged and improved that it rivals the famous Pere 
la Chaise in its beanty. A portion of it is laid off as the 
burial ground of the Jews, and amongst other handsome 
monuments, contains that of the great composer Halevy. The 
grounds are handsomely laid out, and contain many fine 
monuments and vaults. Here are buried Daru, the historian 
of Yenice, Marrast, the Eepublican writer, and President of 
the National Assembly of 1848, the Duchesse d'Abrantes, 
General Cavaignac, Paul Delaroche, and many other distin- 
guished persons. 

The Cemetery of Mont Parnasse is situated in the 
southern part of Paris, and a little to the westward of the 
Observatory. It covers one hundred and fifty acres, but is 
plain and unattractive. 

The great cemetery of Paris is Pere la Chaise^ situated on 
the height of Saint Louis, in the northeastern part of the city. 
It covers an area of two hundred acres. It originally con- 
sisted of fifty acres, and was given to the Jesuits in 1705, 
The confessor of Louis XIY. was at this time the superior of 
the order in Paris, and his name was given to the grounds. 
In 1763 the Jesuits were expelled from Frauce, and the land 
was sold. In ISO-l it was purchased by the city, and con- 
verted into an extra-mural cemetery. The grounds are now 
very extensive, and are beautifully laid off. The trees are 
fine, and the shrubbery is well kept. Broad walks ana 
drives, resembling streets more than anything else, exiena 
through all parts of the grounds, and are lined with perhaps 
the handsomest and most costly collection of monuments and 
tombs to be found in any cemetery. But it is not so much 
the ornaments, the shrubbery, or the fine trees that makes 
the place attractive; it is the fact that it is the last resting- 




„,,||,,,,,,,.,.,|,„,|,|,,.,,|;,,;-....|,,|,,„„.|||„ 






•13 






TiPf^ 







645 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 647 

place of so many brilliant and distinguished men and women. 
During the last fifty years, 16,000 stone monuments have been 
erected here at an aggregate cost of 125,' '00,000 francs — 
$25,000,000. 

From the heights of the cemetery a fine view of the great 
city may be obtained when the smoke of the Faubourg Saint 
Antoine does not hang too thick in the atmosphere. The 
busy, bustling streets below, offer a strange contrast to the 
silent avenues which lie around you, and to which so many 
of those who tread the gay thoroughfares are hastening. 
Only a few years, and they will lie here, and their places in 
the bright city will be filled with others as careless as they 
are now. Everything here is so peaceful that you find it 
hard to realize that the pretty heights were once a battle- 
field. Yet it was here, when the Allies attacked Paris, in 
1814, that two determined assaults of the Russian army were 
repulsed with heavy loss. The third effort Avas successful, 
and the Russians bivouacked that night in the Cemetery. 

Here, in the Jewish quarter is the tomb of Rachel the 
Tragedienne. It is a little stone chapel, with a grated door, 
built over the grave. Over the entrance is the simple word 
Rachel. Kind friends keep the flowers fresh and hang bright 
immortelles about the tomb, A basket is placed in the chapel 
to hold the cards of visitors to the spot. Close by is the 
grave of the great financier Achille Fould, and immediately 
opposite the vault of the Rothschild family. At the north- 
western end is the Mussulman Cemetery, or lot for the burial 
of persons of the Mahometan faith. It is separated by a 
high wall from the rest of the grounds ; and the Queen of 
Oude, who died in Paris a few years ago, lies buried here. 

In the Christian burying-ground a vast array of great 
names confronts you. Just north of the Jewish portion is 
the tasteful tomb built from the ruins of the Abbey of the 
Paraclete, which marks the common grave of Abelard and 
lieloise. It is surrounded by an ugly red railing which 
mars its general effect, but is holy ground in the eyes of 
lovers, and on All-Souls-Day the tomb is nearly hidden with 



648 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

tlie wreaths and flowers which are showered upon it. Many 
of Napoleon's Marshals are buried here — Lefebvre, Massena, 
Davoust, Macdonald, Junot, Grouchy, Mortier and Suchet — 
and in the midst of a pretty flower-garden, without stone or 
inscription to mark the spot, lies sleeping " the bravest of 
the brave," Michel Ney. Beranger the people's poet slum-' 
bers hard by, and not far from him are Manuel the prator, 
Foy the soldier author, Barras the chief of the Directory, 
Benjamin Constant, and Caulaincourt the grand Chamber- 
lain of Napoleon. 

It would be impossible to name all the great men buried 
here. In the course of your walk through the silent 
city you will see many of the brightest names of France. 
Here are the good and the bad, the great and the humble, 
and around you lie, with thousands of silent Companions, 
Mademoiselle Lenormand, the famous Sybil, Alfred de 
Musset, the great Arago, Frederic Soulie, Cuvier the ex- 
pounder of Nature, Mademoiselle Mars the actress, Kobert- 
son the historian, Herold the composer. Talma the tragedian, 
the gentle Bernardin de Saint Pierre, Bellini the composer, 
Eugene Scribe the brilliant author, Sidney Smith who held 
Acre so bravely against Napoleon, Laplace, La Fontaine, 
Moliere, "Weber, Beaumarchais, Saint Simon, Eacine, Bruat, 
Dupuytren, Gouvion de Saint Cyr, Siey^s, Laffitte, Fourrier, 
Gall, Isabey, Bosio, Joubert, Emile Souvestre, De Ballzac, 
David, Yolney, the Abbe de Pradt, and Godoy the Prince of 
Peace. They lie on every hand, so numerous, indeed, that 
you grow weary of reading the pompous and high-sounding 
inscriptions. 

IL 

THE COMMON DITCHES. 

In all the Parisian cemeteries there are three classes of 
graves. The first, those over which the splendid monuments 
and the humbler stones are raised, belong absolutely to the 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 649 

family or friends of the sleeper, and can never be dis- 
turbed unless the cemetery be altogether broken up. They 
are called concessions a perpetuite, and cost at the rate of five 
hundred francs for six feet square. The next class are the 
Fosses Temporaires^ which occupy a separate portion of the 
cemetery. An interment here costs fifty francs, for which sum 
a separate grave and a ten years' undisturbed occupancy of it 
are guaranteed. The last of all are the Fosses Oommtmes, or 
Common Ditches, which lie near the walls of the cemeteries. 
They consist of long open ditches, in which the poor and 
imcared for are buried. The cofiins are placed here in rows, 
close together and on top of each other, three deep. They 
are rough boxes of pine, but they often hold rare and beauti- 
ful forms. They are placed in the ditch, the name of each 
occupant is marked on the box with red chalk, together 
with the date of the interment. When the ditch has received 
its allotted number the dirt is thrown in, well inixed with 
lime to assist the process of decomposition, and destroy the 
poisonous vapors which might arise from so much decaying 
humanity. Unless proof of poverty can be adduced, a charge 
of twenty francs is made for each interment in the fosse 
commune, and for fifteen francs more a small wooden railing 
and a cross may be placed here. Every five years, however, 
the ditches are cleared out. The bones are dug up and re- 
moved to the Catacombs,, and the crosses and railings are 
given to the hospitals for fuel. It is very hard, but in this 
great city the poor cannot repose in peace, even in death. 
The place has a revolting appearance to one ■unaccustomed 
to it, but the birds sing gaily above it, the sunshine falls 
tenderly over it, and the dead are better off even in their 
crowded resting-places than the wretched ones that mourn 
them in the hard, stern city below. Look down into the 
ditch and read the red marks on the poor boxes beneath 
you. Here is an old ouvrier, as rugged in life, no doubt, as 
the box that holds him now ; here a little, tiny case encloses 
a baby's form. Alas ! poor mother, place your pretty 
wreaths here while you may. When the ditch is filled up, 



650 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

it will be only a few short years and tlien the spot where 
your darling now lies, will be the cold bed of another. Here 
is a better casket — one of mahogany, or covered with cloth, 
holding one too dear to be put to rest in the common box. 
The next one, the red marks tell you, is "buried by Charity." 
This one plain and rough bears a tender legend in the coarse 
red marks, ^^ Aglae bien aimeer So " well loved," and to 
come to this place ! 

The little crosses along the temporary graves and the com- 
mon ditches, as well as the finer tombs, are hung with 
wreaths of flowers. On Sundays and holidays you will find 
many persons kneeling by these pretty offerings, praying for 
the souls of their dead friends. On All-Souls-Day (Nov. 2d), 
or the Jour des Moris, as it is called in France, the Eoman 
Catholic Church enjoins its children to pray for the souls of 
the departed, and upon this occasion the cemeteries are 
crowded with the friends and relatives of the dead. The 
tombs are hung with flowers and wreaths of immortelles, and 
the commmon ditches are covered with similar offerings to 
the depth of several feet. There was once prevalent in 
France, a beautiful superstition concerning the Jour des Moris. 
It was believed that from midnight of the preceding night 
until the dawn of the holy day, the dead were permitted to 
leave their graves and come back to the scenes of their 
earthly lives. All who mourned loved ones kept a tender 
vigil by the home fireside on this night, leaving a door or 
window open so that the dear spirit might enter freely and 
depart without hindrance at the appointed time. The old be- 
lief has long ago departed from this skeptical and mocking 
city, but it lingers still in some portions of the country. 

Large sums are annually expended in the purchase of 
wreaths and other floral tributes. The streets leading to the 
entrances of the cemeteries are lined with shops offering them 
for sale. About seven millions of francs are annually ex- 
pended for these articles, and on the Jour des Moris the sales 
usually run from six hundred thousand to a million of francs. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 651 

III. 

FUNERAL POMPS. 

By virtue of the municipal regulations, the business of an 
undertaker in Paris is a monopoly, in the hands of a company 
known as the Administraiion des Pomjoes Funlhres. There is 
one general establishment in the city, with branches in each 
arrondissement. The company has an ample capital, and its 
average annual receipts are about 2,000,000 francs. The law 
prohibits any one but a servant of this company from burying 
a body, and only the Imperial family are exempt from passing 
through its hands. The relatives or friends of a deceased 
person are required to give notice of the death and to make 
application for interment within twenty-four hours of the 
death, and in ordinary cases the burial takes place as soon as 
possible. A printed form is furnished the friends of the de- 
ceased, and contains a detailed list of the expenses of a 
funeral of the desired class. 

The funeral ceremonies are divided into nine classes, each 
of which has its special list of charges. In this way extortion 
is prevented, and the exact sum necessary for the funeral is 
known beforehand. 

Funerals of the first-class, complete in every particular, re- 
quire an expenditure of 10,869 francs. For this sum a magnifi- 
cent hearsy v.ith silver mountings, drawn by six sable horses, 
and followed by thirty or forty carriages, all arranged in costly 
liangings of black, is provided. The front of the church at 
which the funeral ceremonies are performed is hung with a 
heavy black pall, in the centre of which the initials of the 
deceased are wrought in silver thread. High mass is said at 
the church, the Cure of the parish himself officiating, assisted 
by eighteen priests and two vicars. Everything is managed 
on the most splendid scale, and the most imposing show is 
made in every particular. From this the scale descends to 
the ninth class funeral, which costs but six francs and seventy- 
five centimes. In this case the coffin is placed on a bier 



652 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



borne on the shoulders of four stout men. 
classes cost as follows : 



The different 



1st Class 7,000 to 7,200 francs. 

2d " 

3d " 

4th " 

5th " .^ 

6th " 

7th " 

8th " 

9th " 



3,000 


to 3,300 


1,600 


tol 


,700 


750 


to 


800 


300 


to 


350 


100 


to 


150 " 


35 


to 


45 


18 


to 


20 



The average number of respectable funerals are of the fifth 
class. Not more than a thousand a year are of the first four 
classes, and the great majority are of the eighth and ninth 
classes. 

They have a pretty custom here of removing the hat from 
the head and standing uncovered during the passing of a 
funeral procession. Some of these corteges are very touch- 
ing sights. I once saw one wending its way towards Mont 
Parnasse. It was very humble, and the only vehicle was the 
hearse which carried the body. It was the funeral of a poor 
woman, a wife and mother, and just back of the hearse 
walked the stricken husband leading his two motherless 
children by the hand. All three were uncovered, and I 
never saw three sadder faces. A few friends followed on be- 
hind to see the poor mother laid in the common ditch. Hers 
had been a hard life, doubtless, and I thought it full as hard 
that she should be denied the undisturbed rest in the grave 
which even the poorest may enjoy in my own happy land. 



XLVIII. 
FRENCH HOUSES. 

The French have no word in their language to express 
the idea of "home" in its strong Anglo-Saxon sense; and, in 
Paris, the mode of life of the majority of the people leaves 
but little chance for the formation of such an institution. I 
do not mean that there are no domestic establishments, but 
that the city contains few buildings which are anything but 
vast, and sometimes very magnificent, tenement-houses. With 
the exception of the old noblesse of the Faubourg St. Ger- 
main and the very rich, families occupy merely a few rooms 
on a floor, with other families above them and below them ; 
and this state of existence is such as of necessity to deprive 
them of the privacy and tender influences which surround 
a home organized on the English or American plan. Indeed, 
it has always seemed to me that the Parisian cares but little 
for his home, except as a place for sleeping and avoiding the 
severity of the weather. As much time as he can spare from 
his business he spends on the streets, at the cafe, or at some 
place of amusement. Madame sends her children out with 
the nurse at the earliest practicable moment on such days as 
the weather will permit, and they live in the open air until 
dark, coming in merely for a brief period to partake of their 
meals ; and Madame, herself, sets the whole family the ex- 
ample of spending as much time as possible in the open air. 
All classes, sexes, and ages seem to be happiest when nothing 
interposes between them and the blue vault of heaven. This 
is the rale. The exceptions are doubtless numerous, but 
they do not impress a stranger so forcibly as the prevailing 
custom. 

653 



'?54 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

The houses of Paris are in most cases built of a light, 
cream-colored stone, and are from six to nine stories high. 
The new buildings rarely exceed the former height, and 
are very much handsomer than the others. The fronts are 
almost invariably ornamented with carved stone work, and 
these carvings usually exhibit no mean skill on the part of 
the sculptor. The stone is put up in the rough, and is carved 
ifter it is laid in its place in the edifice. It is too soft to risk 
having the work spoiled by accidental blows from falling 
pieces or other causes during the erection of the building. 
The stone is procured from the quarries along the Northern 
Railway, and hardens by contact with the air, so that the 
sculptures run less risk of injury every year of their ex- 
posure. The buildings are generally capped with pretty 
ornamental roofs, which give them a lightness and airiness 
that add much to their beauty. 

In the centre of the ground-floor a massive gateway opens 
from the street into the court-yard, which lies back of the 
main building, and is surrounded by the stables, coach houses, 
and perhaps the back buildings of the edifice. It is generally 
very pretty and cheerful in appearance, and in some of the 
finer houses is roofed over with glass and -ornamented with 
flowers. On this floor is the room (or perhaps rooms) of the 
Concierge. The Concierge is the "official," if I maj^ so style 
him, placed in charge of the entire building by the owner. 
He collects the rents, lets the appartments, and receives all 
letters and cards for the inmates of the house. Visitors wish- 
ing to see the occupant of any floor fipply at the room of the 
Concierge.^ and are instructed how to find the desired apart- 
ment. The Concierge also keeps the police informed as to the 
conduct of the occupants of the building, for there is little 
that passes within that escapes his notice, or of which he does 
not hear. It is well to be on good terms with him, for he 
has it in his power to cause j^ou a vast deal of annoyance. 
He can send away your friends, detain letters or cards left 
for 3''0u, and when you ring at the bell at night, after the 
gate is closed he can keep you waiting in the cold, dark 



PAKIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 655 

street. Having the occupants of the establishment so much 
ill his power, Monsieur the Concierge is not altogether depen- 
dent on his wages, for all who are able to do so fee him ex- 
travagantly. I use the terra advisedly, for he will not be 
influenced by any paltry ''jjowr hoire.'^ He is very careful of 
the morality of his mansion ; but, if Monsieur pays well and 
is discreet, he is not so unfeeling as to forbid Mademoiselle, 
the cousin of Monsieur, to pass in unquestioned. 

The first floor above the ground, or the premih-e etage, as it 
is called here, is the handsomest and most expensive in the 
house ; and in the better class of establishments it is truly 
resplendent with gilt and carvings, and plate glass, and pol- 
ished floors. Above it the apartments are not so fine, and 
the degree of elegance and comfort decreases as you ascend. 
The garret-floor is usually reached by a separate stairway in 
the rear, and is occupied by persons often so poor as to be 
perishing for want of food and fire, and this too in houses 
where the first floor is the abode of persons enormously 
wealthy. Indeed, it has been truly said that, in seeing the 
inmates of one house, you see all grades of Parisian life. 

The floors in the better class of houses, (and of these I shall 
speak exclusively in this chapter) are laid ofi:' into one or 
more suites of rooms. Each suite is complete in itself, and 
consists of one or more bed-rooms, a parlor, dining-room, and 
the tiniest and most complete little kitchen in the world. Yet 
small as this kitchen is, it has all the conveniences necessary 
for cooking, and the admirable manner in which food is pre- 
pared for sale at the provision shops, saves you a great deal 
of trouble at home. Everything is complete about this suite, 
and you are so cut off from the people above or below you 
that you never see them except, perhaps, to pass them on the 
stairs, where courteous salutations (which give no right to 
recognitions elsewhere) are exchanged. The French tell you 
■ this system of living is admirable, but until you can be sure 
of the same amount of privacy and seclusion that you possess 
in your own homes, you that have children with you in your 
visits to Paris, will hardly be free from anxiety or annoyanca 



C56 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

It is true that this system enables one to do without aa 
many servants as are required in a separate house, and in 
these days this is indeed a consideration, but there are many 
things which offset this advantage. Your cook, who, in all 
probability, will be your only servant, will have exclusive 
charge of the marketing, for, in Paris, no lady or gentleman 
must think of attempting this in person. The market people 
are fierce haters of respectable persons, and rarely fail to 
make them feel that they have blundered terribly in seeking 
to make their own purchases. I have been credibly informed 
that there exists between the servant class and the market 
people an understanding, tacit, perhaps, but still an under- 
standing, that the former shall be the only persons allowed to 
frequent the " Halles " in peace. If you go yourself you are 
sure to be cheated, and if the cook goes she will swindle you 
for her own benefit. If she gives three francs for an article 
and charges you with four, be sure the market woman will 
endorse the cook's assertion. The cook gives the dame of 
the halle her custom, and the latter regards it as her religious 
duty to sustain the cook in cheating you. Another way in 
which you are made extravagant in spite of yourself is, that 
you cannot buy provisions by the quantity, for want of a 
store room in which to keep them. You must buy everything 
of the retail merchant and pay him a round profit upon such 
purchases. 

Many of the dwellings built during the present reign are 
provided with gas and water, but the majority of the houses 
of the city are without either. The river water is scarcely 
fit to drink, and water of a better quality is very scarce. 
Water for drinking and for cooking purposes is brought to 
the door every morning by the " Water Carriers," who sell it at 
two cents (American money) a pail. There is a hydrant in 
the court-yard of nearly 'every house of the better class, but 
the water it yields is used merely for washing. Scarcely any. 
of the houses have bath rooms. If you wish to bathe, you 
must seek one of the public baths, or have a tub sent from 
one of the establishments close by. For three francs the tub, 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 657 

with an abundance of warm towels and soap, is brought, 
filled, and carried away after you are done with it. This is 
much more expensive than a bath at one of the establishments 
along the rivc-r, and is indulged in chiefly by the rich, or 
well-to-do. 

Gas is not liked by the majority of Parisians of the better 
class. The ladies especially object to it. They say it injures 
the ornaments of the room, and is yery trjdng to tiie com- 
plexion. They prefer the soft radiance of the wax-tapers 
that are used in the most of the dwelling houses. Gas is 
used for lighting the streets, shops, and places of public 
amusement. 

Wood is used for warming the apartments. Coal is rarelv 
seen, and furnaces are unknown. The Parisians tell you that 
coal is abominable, that it spoils the furniture, ruins the skin, 
and is bad for the throat and lungs. They admit that their 
wood fires do not heat the rooms as thoroughly as they could 
wish, but prefer them, with all their drawbacks, to coal. 

In the richest and most elegant mansions you will find 
carpets, but the majority of Parisian dwellings are without 
them. The floors are of oak, well laid, and polished like 
glass. They are often very handsome, and add not a little to 
the appearance of the room. The duty of polishing the 
floors is discharged by a class of workmen called Frotteurs. 
The Fiolli'.ur is an institution, and a very curious one, too, 
lie charges about two francs an hour for his work, and fur- 
nishes his own wax. In beginning operations, he rubs the 
floor with a lump of wax, taking care to give it a good coat- 
ing and at the same time to save his material as much as 
possible. Then he fastens to his foot by means of a leather 
strap, a stiff, dry brush. He leaves the other foot free for the 
purpose of balancing himself, and with his brush skates, 
dances over the floor at a rapid rate. He generally enlivens 
his labor \)y singing and as one foot becomes tired, changes 
the brush to the other. He seems to like his work, and will 
echo right heartily your laugh of amusement as you watch 
him. 

42 



658 PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Should the family wish to avoid the trouble of preparing 
their food in the house, they have two courses open to them 
— either to take their meals at a restaurant, or to have them 
sent in to their apartments from the nearest establishment. 
Meals will thus be served fresh and hot, and in any style, 
and servants provided if desired. Of course this is expensive, 
but many persons of wealth prefer it to the trouble of having 
the work done at home. 

The washing is all done at the immense establishments 
along the river. The process is rough and terribly destruc- 
tive to clothing, and it is perhaps for this reason that dirty 
linen is so common in Paris. 

Some of the dwelling houses of the city are immense estab- 
lishments in which the rooms are let simply as lodgings, 
and not in suites. These are also in charge of a Concierge, 
and are occupied chiefly by persons who take their meals at 
the restaurants 



PART II, 
PARIS BY GASLIGHT. 



659 




Vestibule of the New Opera. 



I. 

PARIS BY NIGHT. 

The sun bas gone down behind the huge Arc de Triomphe, 
the last notes of the band in the Tuileries garden have died 
awaj, and the shades of evening are gathering over the 
great city. All the streets are crowded with people, work- 
men and workwomen coming from their daily avocations, 
and taking their way to the poorer quarters which they call 
" home." The o-mnibuses and cabs are filled with persons 
seeking their homes in the distant parts of the city, and on 
every railway long trains are departing with thousands 
bound for the suburban towns. In the morning j^ou will see 
these same people coming back, dull and silent, for a day of 
care and fatigue lies before them ; but now they are merry 
and careless. The labor of the day is over, and the season 
of pleasure is approaching. So they go, thousands upon 
thousands, and in a little while the streets seem deserted. 

It is the dinner hour, and you will find the salons of the 
Palais Eoyal and the Boulevards, and the humbler establish- 
ments of the less favored quarters thronged with persons in 
search of their evening meal. By seven o'clock the cafds 
and restaurants are almost deserted in their turn, and the 
throngs betake themselves to the places of amusement with 
which the city abounds. 

The Caf^g on the Boulevards are ready now for their even- 
ing visitors. If it be summer the pavements are lined with 
chairs and little tables around which, during the whole even- 
ing, thousands sit and sip their refreshments. Uow the 
lights flare out upon the dark streets from the brilliant saloons 

661 



662 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

in the winter! Through, the half curtained windows and 
doors you may see the merry pleasure-seekers within, and 
listen to their laughter which comes to you mingled with 
the rattle of glasses and dominoes. Pausing for a moment to 
glance at the brilliant scene is a poor wretch whose whole 
appearance is expressive of misery. He has not tasted food 
for a whole day, and these people are squandering that 
which would be life to him. He utters a half suppressed 
groan, and you turn quickly, but merely to catch* a glimpse 
of his dark, pinched face, as the Sergent de Yille drives him 
onward. And so onward, all the long, weary night must he 
go, with the heavens dark and heavy above him, and the 
earth cold and hard at his feet. 

The omnibuses rattle by with a furious crashing, and the 
lights of the cabs fairly dance, like so many fire flies between 
the lines of green trees, the crowd on the wide side walks 
■grows thicker every moment, and overflows into the street. 
The hum, the buzz of thousands of voices floats merrily on 
the air, and at short intervals the music of a score of bells 
: rises above all, proclaiming the flight of time to these care- 
less creatures. 

The clinking of sabres mingled with the rapid tramp of 
horses' hoofs attracts your attention, and a handsome carriage 
Burrounded by a squadron of mounted men with gleaming 
helmets and gorgeous uniforms, dashes by swiftly, and by 
the glare of the street lamps you catch a glimpse of the tired, 
care-worn features of the Emperor, and the pensive face of 
the beautiful Empress. Their Majesties are bound for the 
Grand Op6ra, where you may see them more at your leisure 

The Imperial carriage has created a stir on the Boulevard, 
and you find yourself in the centre of a crowd which has 
suddenly gathered about you, all like you, watching the sover- 
eigns as they pass down the broad street. A young girl next 
to you, says to you, half-laughing, that her Majesty is growing 
old, and that she can see her wrinkles, and thus draws your 
attention upon herself She is young, and passably pretty, 
too, and is laughing and careless. Her dress is flashy, but not 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 663 

without taste, and she wears a profusion of jewelry, but there 
is a reckless look upon her face, and she has covered its dark 
lines with powder and paint. Look around j^ou, and you will 
see hundreds — I might say thousands — of others, of wliich she 
is the type. The cafes are fall of them. You will find one or 
more at every table, smoking, drinking, and laughing — the 
gayest of tlie gay. They come here to seek company, and 
when they find it, make the most of it. They, of course, are 
shameless, and this publicity is very agreeable to them ; and 
you will find hundreds of them here, in the most beautiful 
and public resort of Paris, strolling arm in arm with their 
male friends or drinking with them at the tables. The men 
are as shameless as they. They are fully aware that no one 
is deceived as to the exact status of the women who hang; on 
their arms, or sit with them in the full blaze of the caf6 
lights, but they seem rather to enjoy the display they are 
making. They are not all young men, gray hairs are seen 
at some of the tables, and many of these merry gentlemen 
have wives and children at home. Nor are the French the 
on!}' transgressors against decency. Do you see that fine 
looking fellow, hobnobbing >vith that merry little woman, 
who has already drank more brandy than is good for her? 
His home is on Beacon Hill, in Boston — that respectable 
city — and I fear the steady children of the Pilgrims who so 
admire his perfect propriety of conduct at home, would hold 
up their hands in horror could they see him now. Yonder 
is a New York banker, called here by sudden and urgent 
business, and who writes to his absent better-half, that his 
time is so occupied with engagements that he will not be 
able to leave for home as soon as he expected. That magnifi- 
cent beauty by his side could tell a different tale were she so 
disposed. That fat, good-natured old gentleman over yonder, 
is from Chicago. His good wife and children are snugly 
stowed away in their cozy quarters at the Grand Hotel, 
believing in their innocence that papa has gone out to see his 
banker. He will have need to see him if he keeps up tlris 
thing very long, and, after all, he might have exhibited a 
little more taste in the selection of his companion. And that 



664 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

one, more shy than the rest, who only half nnderstands the 
silly prattle of the merry girl by his side — why, that one is 
absolutely Deacon X.— — , from Brooklyn. Oh, fie ! my 
worthy deacon, is Paris so different from "the City of 
Churches " that what is vice there is virtue here ? and when 
the good pastor next calls on you for your experience, will 
you tell him of the company you were in when 1 found you 
at this pretty cafe ? 

Do I exaggerate ? Tell me, ye that have seen Paris by 
night, if you have not also seen your countrymen, staid and 
respectable at home, plunge into vice here with a reckless- 
ness which appalled you? 

But the crowd at the cafe and out on the side-walks is not 
entirely composed of black sheep. They are numerous 
enough, but the great majority of the people assembled here 
are persons of respectable positions. Men come here with 
their families, women with their husbands, young girls and 
boys with their parents, and the good and depraved mingle 
together in one careless throng. What must be the result of 
this promiscuous assembling, where virtue is degraded to the 
level of vice, where no distinction can, with politeness, be 
made between a pure woman and a lorette, and where licen- 
tiousness is held up to the gaze of the young — and the old, 
too, for that matter — not only unrebuked, but as the highest 
form of pleasure — what must be the result of all this, I leave 
t-o others to determine, merely observing that I thanked God 
that my own country, with all its faults, was not cursed with 
such a state of society as this ! 

By eleven o'clock the theatres begin to discharge their 
thousands of spectators, who come to swell the crowd on the 
Boulevards, and from now until long after midnight the 
gayety will be at its height. Then the cafes will close, the 
Streets will become almost deserted. A few of the cafes 
remain open all night, and in them you will find one or two 
women waiting in the often vain hope of finding some visitor 
generous enough to give them a supper. 

The Boulevards, however, do not attract all the Parisians. 
Come with me to the Champs Elys^es. The great avenue ia 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 665 

thronged with the many colored lights of the cabs and omni- 
buses. How they dart to and fro across the Place de la 
Concorde, and over the bridge. The lamps twinkle brightly 
in the Tuileries garden and amongst the green trees of the 
Champs Elysces. Every seat, every chair is filled, and the 
walks are full of promenaders. Here and there, on every 
hand, are the shooting stands, hobby-horse galleries, toy and 
refreshment stands, and all the pretty sights for which the 
place is famous. Those bright lights in the direction of the 
Avenue Gabriel mark the entrance to the circus, and you 
can hear on every hand the music from the cafes-chaniants, 
which nestle amongst the trees on each side of the great 
avenue. Yonder is the Avenue Montaigne, and the glare of 
light which streams out of it is fiom the Jardln Mahille. 
Here, under these pretty trees, the throng is almost as great 
as on the Boulevards, but the crowd is quieter. The glare of 
the lights in the groves blinds you, the palaces in the distance 
rise white and bewildering, and until you have thoroughly 
familiarized yourself with the place, you are forced to call in 
the aid of a cab to enable you to find your hotel. 

The river is alive with lights. There are long lines of 
illuminated windows on each side, lamps on the bridges, at 
the water's edge, and on the boats that dart rapidly to and fro 
through the silent and dark waters. 

The blaze of the gaslight in the better parts of this great 
city is something wonderful. The American plan of a few 
sickly burners, separated by wide intervals of space, is dis- 
carded, and the lights are numerous and close together, and 
there are often as many as six or eight burners enclosed in a 
single lamp. In the Eue de Rivoli a lamp is hung between 
every arch, and the street is flooded with a perfect blaze 
of light. You cannot find a dark corner in any part of 
new Paris. And to see these streets on the nights of the 
great fetes, when every house is illuminated, when long rows 
of gas jets throw out in bold relief the beautiful facades of 
the stately edifices, and climb to the summits of towers and 
monuments, when crowns and crosses of fire deck the heads 
of statues and gleam down from the lefty heights, when mil- 



666 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

lions of lamps, twined in wreaths and festoons, and of every 
shape and color, sparkle amidst the thick green of the Tuil- 
eries garden and the Champs Elysees, and pain the eyes with 
their brilliancy, when thousands of rockets and shells are 
bursting over head in mottoes and designs of fire — to see all 
this in one brief night is enough to turn the coolest head, and 
set it to dreaming of Paradise as the only place whose splen- 
dors are not eclipsed by those which he has witnessed. 

But do not think that beauty and splendor reign every- 
where in the great city. Come with me out of the bright 
and crowded streets into the dark and narrow thoroughfares 
of old Paris. What a change of scene! Look up at the tall 
dark houses, old, begrimed with dirt, the windows stopped 
with old clothes and hats, and strips of paper. Everything 
about you betokens poverty — the very darkest and deepest 
poverty. The shops are small and wretched, and the poor 
little tapers with which their occupants seek to illuminate 
them but add to their gloom. The streets are full here, as 
in the better quarters, but with a vevj different throng. The 
dresses are coarse and ragged, or patched, the faces are 
pinched and wan. There are no cafes here — alas, there is 
not in the whole quarter as much money as will change 
hands to-night in one of the gilded saloons of the Boulevards! 
These people are hungry, dirty, ignorant and wretched! 
You hear no laughter from them, for hearts are heavy here, 
and life is all one long tragedy. It is a terrible place ! 

Midnight is long past. The heavy rumble of wheels is 
heard in the silent streets. But do not be alarmed; it is not 
artillery, but merely the "night carts" going their rounds. 
Those lights which dart about so rapidly and so clv)se to the 
ground are the lanterns of the chiffoniers, who are seeking for 
rags, bones, and lost valuables, and who are picking out their 
living from the refuse of the streets. They will be out all 
night searching for their prey. But at last, as the gray 
streaks begin to light up the eastern sky, they too will dis- 
appear, and the streets will be left to the mysterious-looking 
sergents de ville, and for a little while Paris will be wrapped 
in silence and slumber. 



II. 

PARISIAN THEATRES. 

There is no city in the world where the theatres are so 
uncomfortable, and the performances so fine, as in Paris. 
There are about thirty of these establishments in the city, all 
designed to amuse the people ; and that they succeed in their 
object cannot be doubted. 

At the head of the list is the Grand Opera, or Imperial 
Academy of 3Iusie, which stands in the Rue Lepelletier, just 
back of the Boulevard des Italiens. The next in rank is the 
Theatre Francais, in the Rue Richelieu, in the southwest end 
of the Palais Royal ; and the third is the Opera Comique, in 
the Place des Italiens. These three are government estab- 
lishments, and the others are conducted by private indi- 
viduals. 

The Grand Opera is a plain, heavy building without. The 
vestibule is dirty and unattractive, and the boxes open at the 
back upon a shabby corridor. The auditorium, however, is 
very fine. It is decorated in crimson and gold, and is lighted 
by immense chandeliers. It affords one of the most brilliant 
displays to be seen in the city when filled Avitii an audience 
in full dress. Its arrangements, while a little more comfort- 
able than those of the most of the Parisian theatres, are open 
to many improvements. 

The present edifice was erected in 1821, -and Avas designed 
as a temporary building to replace the old Opera, which stood 
in the Rue Richelieu, and which was pulled down in conse- 
quence of the assassination of the Duke dc Berri, in front of 
its doors. In January, 1858, three cowardly Italians attempted 

667 



668 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



to assassinate the Emperor Napoleon III. in front of the 
entrance to the present building. They failed in their attempt, 
but the explosion of their shells killed and wounded nearly 
one hundred persons in the crowd in the street. 

The Grand Opdra is designed for the encouragement and 
development of musical talent in France, as well as for the 




Graud Opera. 



amusement of the people. Its artistes are usually trained in 
the Imperial Conservatory of Music, one of the best schools 
in existence. It receives from the State an annual subsidy 
of 800,000 francs, and 100,000 francs fiom the Emperor; but 
in spite of this, its expenses are heavy. The s ilary of a 
populjjr tenor is about 80,000 francs, and the rates paid to 
the composers of the pieces produced are high. It is famous 
for the magnificence of its sceneiy and the excellence of its 
ballet. The orchestra is immense, and the duties of the con- 
ductor are by no, means liglit. The pieces produced are put 
on the stage with the most conscientious care. Every detail 
is perfect, and the greatest fidelity to historical truth in the 
arrangement of scenery and dresses is preserved. The chorus 
is worthy of its name. I am sure I do not exaggerate when 
I say that in one opera, at least — Le ProjjJiUc — there were 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 669 

several hundred in the chorus. The immense stage was fiUod 
with persons, and in the whole throng I could not detect the 
slightest inaccuracy of costume. As for the performance, it 
was worthy of the immortal production to which the evening 
was devoted. 

The regular Opera nights are Monday, Wednesday, and 
Friday. Extra representations are frequently given on Sun- 
day night during the winter season. At such times the ap- 
proaches to the building are lined with mounted troops and 
Sergents de Ville, and there is a plentiful sprinkling of men in 
uniform in the lobbies of the building. AVhen the Opera is 
over it is one of the most interesting features of the enter- 
tainment to watch the spectators depart, and notice the long 
line of magnificent equipages, with drivers and footmen in 
gorgeous liveries, diish up and bear off their more splendidly 
dressed owners. On the evenings when the Emperor and 
Empress are present, the street is densely packed with persons 
eager to obtain a sight of the Sovereigns, and the dark line 
of wild, poverty-worn faces without afford a striking contrast 
to the gay and careless throng streaming out of the brilliant 
halls. 

A new opera house is now in course of erection, just above 
the Grand Hulel^ and fiicing the Boulevards and the Eue de 
la Paix. It is a magnificent edifice of white and colored 
marble, and is profusely ornianented with statues and gild- 
ings. It covers an area of twelve thousand square yards, and 
Avas begun in August 1861. The total cost when finished, 
will be upwards of twenty-five millions of francs. On the 
west side of the building is the Emperor's private entrance, 
and on the east side the entrance for the holders of season 
tickets. Both of these entrances are provided with carriage- 
ways from the street to the second story of the building, so 
that one can leave his carriage at the door of his box. This 
arrangement will be peculiarly pleasant to ladies, as it will 
spare their rich toilettes from exposure to rain and snow in 
leaving and entering their carriages. The public entrance is 
through an immense vestibule, surrounded by galleries which 



670 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

are approached bj a magnificent stairwaj'" of marble. The 
vestibule occupies the entire height of the building, and is 
gorgeously decorated with carvings, frescoes, and statuary. 
The Auditorium is arranged like that of the present building, 
but is much handsomer, and several fine crush rooms are 
provided. When completed, the New Opera will be the 
finest theatre in the world. 

The Theatre Franqais is the home of the "legitimate 
drama." Here the classic plays, and sterling old French 
comedies, with occasional new pieces of the legitimate school, 
are produced. The company is the best in France, and 
nowhere in the world will you see the works of Eacine, 
Oorneille, Moliere and the other great Masters produced as 
well as in this heavy, but not unhandsome hall. You will 
also see one of the best cultivated audiences in Europe in 
this theatre which witnessed the triumphs of Talma, Made- 
moiselle Mars, Duchesnois, and Rachel. The majority of the 
Parisians consider it "good but rather stupid." It receives 
an annual subsidy of two hundred and fifty thousand francs. 

The Opera Comique is for the production of lighter operas, 
and has of late years been the principal scene of the triumphs 
of Offenbach. The building is heavy and dull, both without 
and within, and in its arrangements for seating spectators is 
one of the most uncomfortable in the city ; but the pieces 
are put on the stage in the best and most careful manner, and 
the company and orchestra are excellent. To a stranger the 
merry audience is full as interesting as the performance. 
The establishment is assisted by an annual subsidy of two 
hundred and forty thousand francs. 

The other theatres of the city are private enterprises and 
receive no aid from the Government. The Theatre lialien 
(Italian Opera) and the Odeon^ opposite the Palace of the 
Luxembourg, are the principal, in point of excellence. 
Nearly all liavc excellent companies and produce their plays 
in good style, for Paris will not tolerate bad acting. Until 
within the past few years each establishment was required to 
confine itself to a special school of the drama, but at present 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 671 

a manager may produce tra.gedy or farce, melodrama or 
pantomime, according to the popular taste. 

The majority of the theatres, indeed, almost all, are ar- 
ranged very differently from those of our own country, or of 
England. In front of the orchestra pen are the orchestra 
chairs, and back of these is the pit, or parterre, arranged 
without passage-ways, except 'at the sides. Encircling this 
pit, and on a level with it, is a row of dark, gloomy boxes, 
called haifjnoires. You can see very little but the heads of 
their occupants, wlio sit entirely in the shade. Above the 
baignoires is a handsome balcony with open seats, as in our 
dress-circle ; and back of this, and slightly raised above it, is 
the first row of boxes, or hgcs. Above this is another row 
of boxes, and in the larger houses a third row rises above 
the second; but in the majority the third row gives way to 
an open gallery. At the top of the house, almost on a line 
with the ceiling, is a row of semi-circular holes, from which 
the heads of the occupants of the highest but cheapest seats 
may be seen. Everybody who can goes to his favorite thea- 
tre; and, starting from the boxes and ascending to the top 
gallery, you can see every variety of Parisian society repre- 
sented in the audience. 

The houses, as a rule, are badly ventilated, and you are 
sure to be thoroughly uncomfn-table before the evening is 
over. There is no music between the acts, and the waits are 
long and dull, and made disagreeable by the shrill cries of 
the venders of books of the play, opera-glasses, and other 
wares, who are permitted to infest these places. As soon as 
the curtain falls on an act, there is a rush by the greater part 
of the audience to the crush rooms and cafes. The crowd 
pours back again just as the curtain is rising, and the open- 
ing of each act is lost to you in the confusion and bustle of 
the spectators. All around you, except in the more aristo 
cratic seats, people are munching apphs, sucking oranges, or 
candies, or cracking nuts. In the pit and orchestra seats this 
is an intolerable nuisance. 

One of the features of a Parisian theatre is the claque — a 



672 PARTS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

number of persons brought in to applaud. You may recog- 
nize tliera by their seedy appearance and methodical manner 
of applauding. They sit in a compact body, numbering from 
twenty to fifty persons, immediately behind the ochestra. 
You see them here, night after night, sitting in the same 
places, and applauding at exactly the same passages, with a 
gravity and method which could not b^ equalled by amateurs. 
The principal applause co.nes from them, tiie audience rarely 
troubling itself to join them, except to honor some unusual 
success. 

The claque is an institution in every well managed theatre. 
The managers once made a concerted effort to dispense with 
it, but the audiences failed so utterly to supply its place that 
the actors themselves petitioned for its restoration, asserting 
that they could not go through their parts without the ap- 
plause to which they were accustomed, and which stimulated 
them to fresh efforts. The claqne is under the direction of 
a leader or chef^ who siis usually in the centre of his band, 
and gives the signal for their movements. Each one watches 
the leader's hands, and regulates the measure of his claps by 
them. The c/^e/' receives a regular salary from tlie manage- 
ment of the theatre, and is required to provide his assistants. 
These are rarely paid for their services. When a piece is 
very successful and there is a great demand for tickets, the 
cAe/" requires the members of the claque to pay a small sum 
for their seats; but, when the season is very dull, and there 
is great need of applause, the assistants receive each a small 
sura in addition to their admittance. As a general rule, how- 
ever, the claq7ie has merely a free admission. 

The claque is all powerful, and is courted and feared by 
artists and authors, inasmuch as the success of a play or an 
actor depends upon its good will. The cAe/ is paid liberally 
in most instances by authors of new pieces, and by actors 
desiring to make "hits" in certain characters. He has his 
regular s.ale of prices, and if his highest terms are acceded 
to, he warrants a complete success. A partial success also 
has its price, and from this the scale descends to an amount 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT*. 673 

of applause sufficient to prevent a failure. Should the actor 
or author refuse to submit to this blackmailing process the 
chef merely accords the least amount of applause consistent 
with the retention of his place in the establishment. 

The claque^ however, is not always master of the situation. 
The audience at every theatre regards it as a nuisance, and 
frequently receives its demonstrations with hisses and cries 
of "J[ las le claque,''^ ("Down with the claque.") The 
struggle between the daquers and the spectators is then 
amusing indeed, and it sometimes requires the interference 
of the police to put an end to the noise of both parties. 

The prices of admission are high. They range from two 
and a half francs to twelve francs at the ticket offices, Ee- 
served seats are much higher, ranging from three to fourteen 
francs. An ample police force is always on hand to pre- 
serve order, and purchasers of tickets are required to ap- 
proach the window of the office in single file, and through a 
narrow passage-way where two could not possibly walk 
abreast. There is no crowding, no confusion. Each one 
must have his money in readiness before reaching the win- 
doMr, and must have decided upon the character of the ticket 
he wishes to purchase. Delays here are not allowed. 

One accustomed to the calm and rather cold-blooded audi- 
ences of our own country, will find the lively and emotional 
audiences of Parisian theatres an interesting study. Exclama- 
tions of delight, or mutterings of disapproval arise all around 
you, popular actors are greeted with impulsive shouts, the mer- 
riment is of the heartiest and most uproarious character, and 
the emotion produced by some harrowing tragedy is equally 
unrestrained. Your Parisian likes nothing undecided. He 
must have either a terrible tragedy or a screaming farce 
Spectacles are his delight, and nowhere are they produced in 
such magnificent style as here. The scenery is gorgeous, 
the effects marvellous, the ballet superb, and the dresses of 
the dancers as slight as the law, which is by no means 
prudish, will permit. 

All the theatres of France are under the direction of the 
43 



674 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Minister of Slate, and before a plaj can be produced it must 
be submitted to a rigid inspection bj that dignitary, and re- 
ceive his approval. This censorship is extreme]}^ rigid in 
political matters, and nothing calculated to set a Frenchman 
to thinking of his liberty is allowed to be spoken. Authors 
especially objectionable to the Government are entirely ban- 
ished from -the stage. No matter how harmless their plays 
are considered, the Government still visits the sins of 
the authors upon the dramas. As regards immorality, 
the utmost license is allowed. Situations, scenes, pas- 
sages, and even whole plays that would be hissed from 
an American or English stage, are received here with 
shouts of delight. The broader the allusion, the more sug- 
gestive the scene or situation, the louder the applause. The 
claque may be dispensed with upon these occasions, for these ^ 
brilliant displays of immodesty arouse the Parisian from his 
indolence, and throw him into transports of delight and ap- 
plause. Women share this delight in such plays, and you 
may hunt through a whole audience without finding one 
■blush of outraged modesty. If the play is an artistic success, 
•be it never so gross, the husband will carry his wife, and the 
iparent his son or daughter, to hear and see that which is not 
calculated to improve their morality. 

The expenses of the theatres are heavy. The Grand Opdra 
pays annually as wages to a staff of 250 persons, the sam of 
1,635,000 francs. Ten per cent, of the gross-receipts are paid 
to the hospital fund, and large sums are annually paid to the 
authors of successful plays. Dramatic authors are better paid 
in France than in any country in the world, and besides this 
hold the position in society to which their talents entitle 
them. 

Popular artists receive very high salaries. The sums paid 
to the "stars" of the Grand Opera, and the Italien seem al- 
most fabulous, but the average salaries are low. The majority 
are so small that their recipients can scarcely live iipon them. 
Those who stand high in their profession and are worthy of 
the honor, have an assured social position, and are not re- 




(^iiillililliiiliillH 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 675 

garded as outcasts from society as is tlie case in the United 
States. The French appreciate and encourage genius of every 
kind more heartily than any other nation, and in their treat- 
ment of their dramatic and lyric artists set us an example 
worthy of imitation. Like all members of the profession, 
French artists are very kind to each other, and I think they 
are less envious of one another's success than most actors. 
Some of them save their money, and a few of the best paid 
have laid by comfortable fortunes, but the majority are fast 
livers, and squander their money as rapidly as it comes in. 
The women are the objects of the most determined gallantry 
on the part of the wealth}'- and titled gentry of Paris, and 
you will hear some sad stories of the brightest names which 
have adorned the French stage. The whole city is full of 
scandal concerning many of the beautiful and talented women 
who nightly contribute to the amusement of the gossipers. 
Much that you hear, you may safely set down as exaggera- 
tion, but a great deal, is undoubtedly true. You will see the 
heroines of the stories that are told 3^ou, living in a style 
utterly beyond the salaries which they receive for their pro- 
fessional services, and you will not be sIoav in forming your 
conclusions as to the manner in which the difi'erence is made 
up. The gossips can tell you every lover an actress has 
had, and you will be startled by the loftiness of some of the 
names. Even the Emperor himself, figures as the hero of 
some of the most outrageous stories that are told. Counts, 
Dukes, Princes, as well as the untitled multitude are given 
similar notoriety. It has always been so, from the davs that 
a woman first trod the French boards, and doubtless will con- 
tinue so as long as women love luxury, and men are found to 
lead them into sin. But do not blame the stage, alone. The 
taint is everywhere, in all grades of French society, from the 
gorgeous palace to the humble attic; from the duchess to the 
grisette. 



III. 

MINOR AMUSEMENTS. 

You will find every description of amusement in Paris. 
Next to the Theatres and Opera, the Circus is the most popu- 
lar. There are four of these establishments in the city, 





Circus. 



occupying permanent buildings, arranged very much like the 
circus on Fourteenth street, in New York, but in much 
handsomer style. The Circus of the Empress^ in the Champs 
676 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 677 

Elys^es, the Napoleon Glrcvs^ in the Boulevard des Filles-du- 
Calvaire, and the Circus of the Prince Imperial are all hand- 
some and conveniently arranged. The first will seat 6,000 
people, and the latter, the oldest of all, was formerly Fran- 
coni's old theatre, and has always been one of the most 
popular places of resort. The Hippodrome^ in the Avenue 
d'Eylau, near the Bois de Boulogne, is a vast unroofed enclo- 
sure. The seats are made comfortable by being covered 
over head, bat the centre of the enclosure is entirely open. 
Performances are given here in the summer season on every 
afternoon, in the presence of large audiences. The price of 
admission to all these establishments varies from half a franc 
to two and a half francs. 

The displays are unsurpassed by any in the world. Tlie 
horses are perfectly trained, the actors are equally proficient, 
the feats of strength and agility are amazing, and the toilettes 
of the female performers are very gcant. The clowns are the 
very perfection of humor, and keep the audience in a roar of 
laughter. There is more freedom amongst the spectators 
here than at the theatres, and the audiences generally consist 
of a class less amenable to the laws of etiquette. 

Frequent exhibitions of wild beasts are held at the Hippo- 
drome. The Parisians are very fond of such displays, and 
patronize them very liberally. The monkeys are especial 
favorites with them, and you may have many a hearty laugh 
if you will watch the crowd around the monkey cage. Next 
to the monkeys, I think the lions attract the most attention, 
and this recalls to my mind a story told in Paris, a few j^ears 
ago, in connection with the stay of one of these exhibitions 
at the Hippodrome. I give it as related in one of the news- 
papers : 

"Dr. Lemoine is one of the most courtly and af^ible of 
Paris ph3'^sicians. A few days ago he was called upon by an 
athletic, ruddy personage, who certainly seemed in no indi- 
vidual need of the distinguished doctor's advice ; the latter, 
too, in kind effort to reassure his embarrassed visitor, 
addressed him with his usual politeness and condescension. 



678 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

*'' ' Monsieur, I am the proprietor of a menagerie,' said tlie 
square sliouldered man, ' and one of mj children is sick — ' 

" ' Exactly, my friend. Of what nature is the disease ?' 

" 'He ran a splinter into his thigh ; it is very ugly. Mon- 
sieur, but T am rich enough to pay well,' 

"'Very well, my man,' replied the doctor, unable to sup- 
press a smile at the simplicity of his visitor, ' we will talk of 
that after awhile. Tell me explicitly what is the matter 
with your child.' 

" 'Monsieur, the splinter has festered in his thigh, and he 
will let no one touch it ; he is headstrong — for all he is very 
gentle. It will be necessary, I know, to perform a slight 
operation ; but he is so violent and headstrong about it.' 

" 'Leave his violence to me. How old is he?' 

" 'Four years only. But I am afraid he will bite or scratch 
you if you attempt to touch it. You must administer chlo- 
roform.' 

" 'Not at all, my good man. Your child cannot be very 
dangerous in the exercise of his temper if he is only four 
years old.' 

" ' But he is large for his age ' 

" ' No, no ; I will go with you to see your boy. It were 
folly to administer chloroform in such a case.' 

" ' But, Monsieur, you do not know him so well as I,' con- 
tinued the man importunately. ' I pray, I beseech you, to 
take the chloroform all the same, in case you should need it.' 

" To dispel the anxieties of the nervous athlete, Dr. Le- 
moine carried with him the required ansesthetio, and after a 
short course in a voitxire, arrived at the house of the beast- 
tamer. Entering a room adjoining the exhibition arena, 
which was half kitchen and half stable, the doctor looked 
around for the suffering patient. 

" ' I have put him up stairs, doctor, where the poor fellow 
would be undisturbed by the performances. Ascend with 
me, please. 

" They mounted a half-ladder, half-staircase, to a kind of 
loft. The doctor having entered, the showman followed, 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 679 

and, closing the door behind him, quickly locked it. The 
former, turning in some surprise at this strange proceeding 
to his conductor, was saluted with a low growl from the ex- 
treme corner of the room. He then fixed his attention upon 
the source of this unkindly greeting, and descried a full- 
grown lion slowly approaching them, with an unquestion- 
ably wicked and menacing snarl upon his countenance. The 
dompteur (beast-tamer) grew pale ; and when he addressed 
some soothing brute-language to the animal, his voice trem- 
bled. The doctor was not only ghastly pale, but was covered 
with a cold sweat. 

" ' For God's sake, doctor, be quick !' whispered the beast- 
tamer, hoarsely. ' He is ugly to-day !' 

" Still showing his white teeth, the lion slowly crouched in 
that attitude which the physician had so often observed the 
same species assume, preparatory to a spring, in the mena- 
gerie of the Jardin des Plantes. He had need then of self- 
possession, and, collecting all his energies, he dashed the 
chloroform Avhich he held in the animal's face. The latter 
recoiled, and in a second after began to droop under the 
effects of the drug. This enabled a still further administra- 
tion of it, till he was finally stretched j)owerless before them; 
the operation required was then made upon the wound, and 
the proper restoratives applied. 

" Neither doctor nor showman spoke a word until they had 
descended the steps, and stood safely in the room below. 

" ' Monsieur,' said the dompteur, 'you have saved, by your 
wonderful presence of mind, a life whose value is incalculable 
to me. Permit me to give you your fee.' And he handed 
the other a hundred-franc note. 

" 'Thank you, Monsieur Dompteur,' replied the physician, 
receiving the satisfactory fee; 'and when you again have 
need of my services for a similar case, I pray you ' 

" ' I will certainly call you in.' 

" ' No, no — to summon some other member of the pro- 
fession.' " 

The other amusements conlprise exhibitions of ventrilo- 



680 PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

quism, mechanical and physical feats, legerdemain, chemical 
and philosophical experiments, magic-lanterns, panoramas, 
dolls, and Chinese shadows. Some of them are very fine. 
Eobert Houdin's old theatre in the Boulevard des Italiens, 
has fallen into the skilful hands of M. Cleverman, and is a 
great resort for children and young people, who come with 
their parents and nurses. 

In the Boulevard de Strasbourg there is a Marionnette 
theatre, at which two performances are given every evening 
— one at seven o'clock, and the other at nine. It is well to 
give each of these places a visit in its turn, as they afford 
excellent opportunities of studying the various phases of 
French nature, which a wit has declared to be very different 
from human nature. 



IV. 
THE SOCIAL PLAGUE SPOT. 

The feature of Frencli life which strikes a stranger with 
perhaps the greatest surprise, is the rigiduess with which 
young women are guarded and kept in a state of semi-sechi- 
sion, and the extraordinary license granted to married women. 
A mother never permits her daughter, who has arrived at 
a marriageable age, to pass half an hour that she (the mother) 
cannot account for. A single walk alone with a young man 
is sufficient to cast such a degree of suspicion upon the m.aiden 
as to ruin her prospects of marriage. Your true Frenchman 
insists that his wife, if she be a maid, shall come to him inno- 
cent and unsophisticated in every respect, and he watches 
her closely before marriage, to see that she is simple and 
artless. The natural and frank manners of an American 
girl would forever blast the reputation of a French demoiselle. 
The consequence is that they are taught by their mothers a 
prudish and demure manner, which is purely artificial, but 
which is supposed to indicate modesty. They are taught to 
keep their eyes down, to answer merely in monosyllables, and 
then in a cold, embarrassed tone, and are made to feel in every 
way that their girlhood must be a period of restraint and in- 
significance, from wliich they can only emerge through the 
gates of marriage. Marriage, they are taught, is the only 
thing that can give them a respectable and assured position 
in society, and they are led to look forward to it with pleasure, 
as the only release from their bondage. Once married, the 
mother's watchfulness over them ceases. Young and inex- 
perienced as they are, society throws down every barrier it 

Gbl 



082 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

had raised before them while maidens. They are subject to 
no restraint, and are fairly dazzled by the freedom which lies 
before them. That freedom, however, brings with it 
many temptations, from which their girlhood shielded them. 
Tempters of all kinds surround them ; systematic efforts are 
made to engage them in intrigues. As much as Frenchmen 
desire virtue in a bride, they seem with one consent to regard 
all married women as lacking in that quality, and ready to 
fall into their arms. Well informed persons assert that, 
among the better classes, the woman who goes through life 
without a single intrigue is a rarity. This assertion seems 
to me so sweeping that I hesitate to repeat it; but those who 
are familiar with the manner in which women are here pre- 
pared for the marriage relation, and the life that lies before 
them after entering it, will agree'that it is not far from the truth. 

Marriage in France is not the " holy estate " that it is in 
England or America. Affection rarely enters into the bargain 
here, but the whole affair is merely a matter of convenience. 
" The first official ceremony is the signing of the contract, 
which generally takes place after one or two interviews have 
been allowed between the couple — of course before witnesses. 
The disgusting minuteness of the details discussed on the 
occasion are, according to all female writers, the first blow 
struck at conjugal happiness. Every possible case is foreseen — 
widowhood, legal separation, second marriage, birth or death 
of children — every poetical illusion or hope that might re- 
main is pitilessly dispelled. Both bridegroom and bride are 
forced to notice that they are entering into a kind of partner- 
ship, with family convenience for its principal object, the 
possibility of two or three children clearly laid down, the 
probability of domestic unhappiness distinctly pointed out; 
and if one or both choose to add to all this a romantic attach- 
ment, a real marriage, that is quite another affair, carefully 
kept out of sight. 

" The interval that elapses between the signing of the con- 
tract and the celebration of the final ceremony — say a week 
or two — is supposed to be spent by the young people in 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 683 

becoming acquainted one witli the other. They are then 
allowed a little more liberty of intercourse, but rarely see 
each other except in the presence of at least one witness. 
They sit at opposite sides of the room, and talk of the weather, 
or try to exhibit their intellectual acquirements. Any ex- 
pansion of sentiment is as impossible as it would be rid.culous* 
The contracting parties have been brought together by con- 
venience — by prudence— by reason — not at all by affection. 
Neither they nor their friends pretend that. Sometimes, of 
course, love springs up ; but this must be after the marriage, 
for the tendency of a formal interview, in which every word 
is watched and weighed, and which cannot degenerate into 
familiarity, because, according to public opinion, neither the 
young man nor the young woman is to be trusted, is inevita- 
bly to destroy everything that has the remotest relation to 
romance. It is a common thing to say that romance is neither 
respectable nor desirable — a superfluous ingredient in mar- 
riage.'"* 

I do not desire either to make or to repeat sweeping asser- 
tions, and am willing to admit that there are many exceptions 
to the picture I have presented, but that I have faithfully 
stated the general condition of society in this respect, I think 
there can be no doubt. 

Marriage, arranged upon this plan, must of necessity have 
its attendant evils. The feeling of indifference which at first 
exists between husband and wife, too often deepens into 
utter neglect or positive dislike. Monsieur has his mistresses, 
Madame her lovers. There is no common interest, and each 
seeks pleasure regardless of the other. Both indulge in ex- 
travagance of the most reckless character. Suits for divorce 
are becoming more numerous than formerly, and they reveal 
a condition of society sufficiently bad to make even the most 
careless tremble. A recent Paris letter gives the following 
view the matter. The reader can draw bis own conclusions 
from it : 

* Pui-ple Tints of Paris. By Bayle St. John. 



684 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

" "Whither will all the love of expense and of finery now 
prevailing in Paris lead ? It has already led to most de- 
plorable consequences. There is scarcely a week but some 
fine lady is arrested stealing in the shops. Fashionable 
jewelers are constantly the victims of this fraud. A woman 
of rank orders valuable jewels, to be paid for at some future 
time. She no sooner receives them than she sends them to 
the pawnbroker. Before the bill for them is due, she goes 
to another jeweler and buys valuable jewels on the same 
terms. She redeems the first pledge with the second, carries 
it back to the first jeweler, and gets him to take it back at a 
discount. Many women of rank carry on a business as com- 
mission merchants. They introduce their friends to trades- 
men and get a commission on the orders. Nothing is more 
common among women of rank than to act as patrons of 
wealthy foreigners or natives of low extraction who have 
made great estates. They introduce them into society. This 
is said to be a most lucrative business. A still more lucra- 
tive business, which is said to be becoming daily more 
common, is — but here I venture on such very delicate 
ground you must let me shield myself behind a French 
authority. A weekly publication, called Le Diable a Quatre, 
has taken up this subject of extravagance, and treated it so 
opportunely and vigorously tbat four editions of the periodi- 
cal were sold in one day. Here are a few of its remarks-: 
' Luxury no longer finding a sufficient supply in direct and 
honest sources for its insane requirements, has resorted to 
adultery. As the husband's purse no longer suffices, the 
wife has drawn on other men's purses, selling herself (her 
last resource after all others have been exhausted) to get the 
means of remaining brilliant in society, where few women 
now live without some stain upon them. Luxury by adul- 
tery ; adultery by luxury ! Leaning each on the other, they 
have grown up, mining with all their strength everything 
which was respectable and respected ; disintegrating families, 
by introducing into them bickerings, with straits and with 
straitened circumstances, and hatred of home. It has not 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 685 

been a very long time since mathematical philosophy noted 
the disorders fomented by luxury, and demonstrated the 
imminence of the progress of the plague. Mathematical 
philosophy framed the budget of young married people who 
set up house with an income of $4,000 or $6,000 a year, and 
it instanced the wives of ofl&ce-holders as victims of the passion 
of making a splendid show. 

" ' The woman who sells herself was something absolutely 
unknown in the highest social circles, where husband and 
wife belonged to the most opulent families of France. Now 
this plague-spot is everywhere, because straitened circum- 
stances are the rule everywhere. Straitened circumstances 
reign in every family, from that of the pretty woman so 
greatly admired at one of the recent official balls, and who, 
to buy a head dress of flowers, pledged at the pawnbroker's 
her little daughter's ear-rings, to that duchess whose hus- 
band tried two month's ago to borrow $160,000 on the bridal 
diamonds of his wife. Straitened circumstances have pene- 
trated every household, opening every door to vice ; the de- 
vouring ulcer has absorbed everything — everything to this 
extent, that when we see a princess playing with her dolls, 
we may affirm that one of these days (if nothing counteracts 
the plague now general) she will prostitute herself for a few 
yards of lace. Nobody will deny that in all the higher classes 
of society adultery has become a social principle ; and in the 
more brilliant circles marriage — that union which should in- 
clude only two members — has become so transformed that 
some of these unions, formed to dress the wife in order to 
have afterwards the right to undress her, have become so nu- 
merous they might elect a board of directors.' 

"The author then goes on to show the young wife getting 
into debt in order to keep up her show of luxury, and soon 
falling gradually into the procuress's hands. The procuress 
is a woman of rank, who keeps up her social position with 
the money given her for her offices by licentious men. The 
author shows the titled procuress plying her infamous trade. 
The procuress then says to her: * Why don't you ask M. 



686 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

to help you ; he is kind-hearted, and he would do anything 
for you.' But the instinctive aversion of the young wife is 
irritated by these insulting offers, which wound her to the 
bottom of her heart. To reach that depth of shame she 
must trample under foot everything she has held sacred from 
self-respect to the old prejadices of her caste. She is of noble 
birth, and the man to whom she must deliver herself, the man 
vile enough to propose this bargain, can be none other than 
one of those coarse parvenues admitted into drawing-rooms 
by the excessive facility with which all houses now-a-days 
are thrown open. The procuress renews the attack, saying : 

' I have, despite you, spoken to M. . He knows $10,000 

would save you. They are ready. You have but to go to 
his house to get them.' $10,000 ! They are enough to pay 
all her creditors, and to give her peace instead of the uninter- 
mittent fever and uneasiness. When she is alone she says to 
herself: '$10,000 ! I will pay all my debts with them, then 
I will fly* to the country far from that man. I will see 
him no more. My husband shall know nothing of that 
which I fear. This last fault shall efface all others — I will 
go for the money.' But this resolution, so easily taken at 
night, in darkness, is broken by broad daylight. Yet there 
is necessity, imperious irremediable, irremissible necessity, 
staring her in the face. The unhappy wife once more begs 
for more time, and only bruises herself against inexorable 
exigencies. She is on the brink of the abyss. Fall she 
must. A last insolent quarrel, which took place in her 
house by a creditor, her husband (that husband which she 
must betray in order to retain his love) knows nothing of, 
drives her crazy. She puts on her best clothes. She makes 
herself as beautiful as possible, for women will, in the most 
painful circumstances, sacrifice to their charms. During the 
Keign of Terror women were seen admiring themselves in 
the glass as they were led to execution. Besides, at this hour 
it is her interest to be beautiful — is it not her beauty she is 
going to sell ? Her resolution wavers as she is about to leave. 
She must be bold. As she goes through the dining-room she 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 687 

snatches up a decanter of liqueurs, drinks out of the bottle, 
and, half drunk, leaps into the first hack that goes by. A 
hack ! The hearse of aristocratic ladies' virtue. The hack 
doesn't seem to go fast enough for her. The dread of failing 
to keep her resolution still haunts her, for, now she would, 
she must go to the end. At last she reaches her destination. 
She is beside herself, drunk, exhausted, but the forced smile 
is on her lips. She enters. The silence of the apartment 
chills her like some cold shroud thrown over her delirium. 
Her heart shrinks, her throat contracts. She is a ruined 
woman. Then begins for the wretched creature a new life, 
from which peace is forever banished. The resolution she 
formed to fly far from the place which witnessed her dishonor 
fled away with her purity. Many a woman, feeling her trou- 
bles ended by the thousand franc notes with which her 
bands are full, determines to shine more brilliantly than ever. 
Luxury is a mantle which they wish more dazzling than ever 
to hide their slips. Nevertheless the fallen woman slips from 
thraldom to thraldom ; for a cloud of birds of prey have 
settled on her. The procuress is not the least insatiable of 
them; and next her is the chambermaid, who necessai'ily be- 
comes the confidant, and then the accomplice of her wishes, 
who helps her to deceive her husband. 

" At last he knows all. I open at once a parenthesis to 
say I wish to consider only brave, honorable men. I discard 
those vile creatures, be they plebeian or noble, who accept 
this position or turn their incident to account, making their 
wife's familj'- give them an annuity, that they may continue 
to live with a portion of that fortune whose inadequacy to 
their station of life proved the ruin of their household. There 
is no help for it! These noble ignoramuses, who know noth- 
ing but laziness and the art of borrowing fifty Napoleons, 
which their wife repays — these people have $-4,000 or $5,000 
a year, ond they imprudently live as if they had $20,000 a 
year. These people bear everything with cynicism. They 
will not fight. They are in the majority ; for we live in days 
when it may be said that the progressive libertinage of wives 



J 88 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

is surpassed only by the immeasurable resignation of hus- 
bands. There is not a day but one hears some wife, moving 
in good society, has been detected in adultery by her husband. 
If with these reasons (to, which little attention is begun to be 
paid) one is informed of a duel fought, it is merely a quarrel 
between men about cheating at the card-table. Most men 
now-a-days run away from a drawn sword. If to-morrow 
every betrayed husband was obliged to kill the lovers of 
their wives, it would be necessary next year to hasten the 
anniversary of St. Bartholomew at least six months. Brave, 
honorable men bear all in silence, because when they know 
all it is too late. The wrong done is so irreparable, ven- 
geance itself is no longer possible. When they discover the 
truth they know, love, joy, peace, quiet, family, have long 
been discarded to sacrifice to the vice of the day — luxury. In 
old times when a brave and honorable man discovered his 
wife had deceived him, he found her accomplice and killed 
him in duel or assassinated him with a sword or a poignard. 
This satisfaction is no longer possible now-a-da3^s, for the 
woman \vho is entangled in adultery is soon no longer able to 
reckon her lovers with the five fingers of her husband's hand, 
which has become too small to slap all of them. To which 
one should the unfortunate husband, who has discovered the 
truth direct his vengeance ? To the first lover ? Who 
knows what has become of him ? The others would reply as 
a husband recently heard a man who had dishonored him 
say : 'I took your wife from Monsieur such-a-one, who took 
her after Monsieur such-another. I did not even know you 
were in existence, so don't come bothering me.' 

"I should not have ventured to paint society here in such 
dark colors, but I believe the picture true. Thirst for 
money, and incapacity for making it by trade, with absolute 
lack of moral sense, has gangrened society here. Life in 
Paris has become such a fever, few people can bear it long. 
The number of young wives who die giving birth to their 
first child, and the number of young wives who die from 
other causes are alarmins: in Paris. Terrible crimes are 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 689 

becomiug of everj-day occurrence. The town is now ring- 
ing with a mysterious drama which has just taken place at 
the barracks in the Rue Tournon. Two pistol shots were 
heard in Commandant Thevet's room. Persons went there, 
to find him dead, and Marquise S. in her night gown with 
him. They both, I believe, were married. Was the crime a 
suicide or a murder ?"* 

* Neio TorTc World. 



44 



T. 

CONCERTS. 

There are two classes of concerts to be found in this city. 
r. The Concerts of the first rank in a professional point of 
view. II. The Cafes Concerts, at which the music is but an 
accessory, and which are more frequented by lovers of dissi- 
pation than by lovers of music. 




Champs Elysees Concert. 

. Of the Concerts of the first class, the entertainments of the 
Conservatory of Music, in the Eue du Faubourg-Poisson- 
ni^re, are the best. The best seats are difficult to be had by 
strangers, as they are let' by subscription, but places may 
always be procured in the pit if one is in time to secure a 
ticket. The music is of the highest order, and the perform- 
690 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



691 



ance is the best in France. The concerts are usually given 
on Sunday, and attract cultivated and fashionable audiences. 
The Champs Elysees Concerts, given in the rear of the 
Palace of Industry, are held only during the summer months, 
and are very popular. The orchestra is one of the best in 
Europe, and the music is excellent. The music-stand is 
erected in the midst of a pretty grove, which is thronged 
with a most appreciative audience every night. These con- 
certs are the best open-air entertainments in the city, and are 




Caf6 Concert. 



the only ones at which a show of decency is preserved. 
Women unaccompanied by male escorts cannot enter the 
enclosure. 

A very popular species of entertainment, which has sprung 
up within the past few years, is the Cafe C/umtant^ or Cafe 
Concert. In the summer these amusements are held in the 
open air, and to the concert are added dancing and theatrical 
representations. The best of these establishments are in the 
Champs Elysees. 



692 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Imagine a vast garden, enclosed with a high wall of 
shrubbery, and having for a roof the glittering vault of 
heaven. At the end by which you enter is a large building 
used as a cafe, restaurant, etc. The upper windows are 
provided with numerous balconies, which are occupied by 
the most aristocratic part of the audience. At the other end 
of the grounds is a light building fitted up as a stage, with 
dressing-rooms, etc., behind. In front of the footlights is the 
orchestra pen, and the rest of the garden is filled with little 
tables and chairs for the use of the audience. There is a 
profusion of lamps throughout the grounds, and a flood of 
light streams over the spectators from the stage. Perform- 
ances are given here every night to immense audiences. 
There is no charge for admission to the grounds, but 
persons are expected to order refreshments, which are served 
at twice the ordinary rates. In rainy weather these establish- 
ments are closed, but on fair evenings they are liberally 
patronized, the principal ^ight being Sunday. 

You enter and seat yourself at one of the little tables. A 
huge board, fastened to one of the trees, contains a list of the 
refreshments sold and the prices. Almost as soon as you 
have taken your seat a waiter is at your elbow to receive 
your order. You have not long to wait, but soon have the 
desired articles on your little table. The waiter receives the 
money on the spot, and does not forget to wither you with 
his scornful glance if you omit his pour-boire, but, his demands 
satisfied, he leaves you in peace to sip yonr claret and enjoy 
the performance. 

The curtain rising reveals a prettily arranged stage, around 
which are seated a dozen or more young women, some 
dressed for the ballet, but all extremely bare about the neck 
and shoulders. Their toilettes are exquisite, and some of the 
women are pretty, but the majority are barely passably good- 
looking. They are the performers of the evening, and as 
they are needed during the progress of the entertainment, 
retii-e through a door at the rear before presenting themselves 
at the footlights. The object of the manager seems to be to 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. G93 

keep as many of tbem as possible constantly before tlie gaze 
of the audience, and as soon as a performer is through with 
her part she returns to her seat on the stage. The male 
performers are kept out of sight, except when playing the 
parts assigned them. They offer no attraction to the audi- 
ence, inasmuch as they have no personal charms to display. 
The Alcazar boasts decidedly the prettiest women, and is, 
perhaps, the best of these singing gardens. You notice that 
all of the women have bouquets. The establishment does 
not provide these — they are the gifts of the admirers of the 
artistes. A person wishing to make the acquaintance of one 
of these fair demoiselles, sends a bouquet with his card to 
her. If she appears with it on the stage she thereby signifies 
her willingness to accept Monsieur's attentions. They tell 
3'ou here' that there is little danger of your failing to see 
your bouquet on the stage, provided it is handsome. 

The performance consists of ballads, comic songs, bur- 
lesques, ballets, feats of strength, and legerdemain — the 
singers are, in some cases, very good artists, but below the 
average as a rule. The wit is broad, the ballet Avould be 
called indecent anywhere but in- Paris, and the subjects of the 
burlesque are not always the most fitting for places so largely 
attended by ladies. 

The female performers being the chief attraction, I shall 
speak of them alone. Some of them, as I have said, are 
pretty ; but could you pass the footlights and obtain a nearer 
view, you would find the paint and enamel, thick, on every 
face. A very few would be handsomer without these acces- 
sories, but a vast majority would be pale and haggard even 
with the aid of the footlights, did not they summon these 
cosmetics to their assistance. As a rule they lead lives 
wl)ich soon rob them of their beauty, and as they continue 
to fade, they become less useful to the establishment unless 
they be persons of extraordinary musical talent. 

The ages of the performers vary from fifteen to thirty-five 
years. For a woman of the latter age to retain her place, 
she must be possessed of either remarkable beauty or remark- 



694 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

able skill. The principal favorites are between nineteen and 
twenty-five, and are generally given the most prominent seats 
on the stage. You will see them slyly recognizing and 
nodding to their friends in the audience, though such recog- 
nitions are forbidden by the director. The wages are small, 
except in very rare instances, and they rely upon the gener- 
osity of their lovers to make up the deficiency. It is well 
understood in the city that women who appear at these 
places do so as much to attract lovers to their feet as for the 
purpose of earning a support ; and for a woman to appear on 
the stage of one of these establishments is sufficient to blast 
her reputation forever. Doubtless many come here pure and 
innocent and entirely to earn their bread ; but Monsieur, the 
director, selects them for their personal attractions and not 
according to their necessities, and could tell them, were he so 
inclined, that neither purity nor innocence will remain with 
them long if they continue here. It occasionally happens 
that a mother will come here to watch over her daughter, 
who may be one of the principal favorites. The dame will 
seat herself behind the scenes, and never saifer her daughter 
to leave her side except when she is needed on the stage. 
She watches over her with dragon-like vigilance, and is a 
capital hand at intercepting notes and bouquets. The former 
she destroys, but the latter she retains, inasmuch as they can 
be sold over again the next day. But watchful though the 
mother may be, the fair artiste is still exposed to the dangers 
of the place, and she soon finds a way of eluding the vigilance 
of the mother, and then begins for her the career Avhose 
glories are soon quenched in the gloom of the fatal Eegister. 
Or, it may be, for the very atmosphere of the place is de- 
moralizing, the mother herself is won by the bribes and 
promises of her daughter's admirers, relaxes her vigilance, 
and offers no opposition to the entrance of the young girl 
upon her downward career. There have been such cases, 
but let us thank Heaven they are few. 

The performance is intolerably long, arranged so, no doubt, 
for the purpose of forcing you to consume a considerable 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 695 

quantity of refresbmeuts, and you grow tired of the whole 
affair long before its close. You think you can do better 
than sit here listening to an indifferent orchestra and second- 
rate singers ; but if you weary of the stage, you can find 
ample amusement in the audience. Even during the per- 
formance the spectators are laughing and chatting, and the 
air is heavy with the odor of tobacco. People are coming 
and going all the time, for but few find themselves equal to 
the undertaking of sitting through the whole evening. The 
Parisian seems to think it a part of his duty to devote one 
evening of each week to making the round of the gardens in 
the Champs Blysees. He hears all the new songs here, and 
thus laj^s in his stock of music for the week. The rest of 
his leisure time he gives to entertainments of a better kind. 



YI. 

MABIILE. 

Stroll through the Champs Blys^es to the Bond Pointy 
and you will see a bright glare of light streaming from the 
Avenue Montaigne, Turn to the left and continue your 
walk in the direction of the light, and a few minutes will 
bring you to the entrance to the famous Jardin Mahille. The 
gateway is in the form of a handsome arch, and is a mass of 
many colored lamps. 



v^ -^Tj'-^'^x-jgi^jia 



C 




Entrance to Mabille. 



I had heard so much of the splendors of Mahille that I 
availed myself of an early opportunity to become acquainted 
with them. I had not the remotest idea of the location of 
the place, and afterwards found that I had passed it several 
times without noticing it. I had just come out of one of the 
brilliant concert garden.^ and was more than half bewildered 
696 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 697 

as to my exact locality, so calling a voiture I bade the driver 
take me to Mabille. The fellow looked at me in amazement. 
" To Mabille, Monsieur," he asked, with a puzzled expres- 
sion on his face. " Certainly. To Mabille," I replied. He 
glanced at me searchingly as if to satisfy himself of my 
sobriety, and then drove off, but before I had settled myself 
comfortably in the carriage we were at the entrance to the 
garden. The fellow's astonishment was now plain to me. 
Mabille was but a few hundred yards from the place at which 
I had entered the cab, and coachy could not understand why 
a sensible man should wish to pay fall fare for so short a 
drive. 

The gateway was a blaze of light. Carriages of every de- 
scription were constantly arriving with visitors. A large 
number of the occupants of these vehicles were women, and 
the most of them came alone. Those who came in the more 
elegant vehicles were magnificently dressed, and some were 
very handsome women. Others came in tlie omnibuses, and 
others on foot. All were dressed in their best, and seemed 
to care little for anything but to pass within the enclo- 
sure. It was a fete night, and the crowd was unusually large. 
The ordinary price of admission is two francs, but upon this 
occasion it was raised to five francs, as there was to be an 
increased orchestra, besides a display of fireworks. I paused 
but a short time to watch the arrivals, and procuring my 
ticket at the little bureau^ strolled down the pretty green alley 
wliich led to the centre of the garden. 

Mabille is the most famous of all the public balls of Paris, 
and is also the most noted place of rendezvous for the Lorettes 
of the city. All who can procure a respectable outfit, 
whether handsome or plain, or accomplish the feat of raising 
the price of a ticket, come to Mabille at least once a week, 
and on fete nights the garden is crowded. 

It was about half past nine when I entered the grounds, 
and the crowd was almost at its greatest. I heard the 
passionate throbbing of a Avaltz from the orchestra, and 
the whirl of the dancers on the sanded floor, and the next 



698 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

moment a sharp turn of the alley brought me suddenly into 
the midst of the brilliant scene. 

Imagine an immense circular space, surrounded by huge 
trees through whose arching branches the stars glitter like 
myriads of spangles on a ceiling of blue-and-green. The 
floor is of earth, beaten and rolled down hard and smooth, 
and covered with fine white sand. In the centre is a large 
pagoda, from which, high above the dancers, the orchestra 
discourses its magic strains. Hundreds of lamps in spherical 
and pear-shaped globes, are arranged upon the roof and sides 
of the pagoda and around the dancers' circle, while festoons 
and semi-circles of piping, pierced with gas jets not an inch 
apart, extend overhead in every direction. Around the cir- 
cle and in various parts of the garden are light iron chain? 
and settees, usually filled during the intervals for promenades, 
but vacant when the dancing is going on. Numerous long, 
shady alleys, ornamented with statues, fountains, and flowers, 
lead from the centre to the more remote parts of the garden. 
Lamps of every shape and hue, Chinese lanters, rows of gas 
jets, glitter and sparkle through the trees, and the effect of 
the whole is very much heightened by some tolerable pieces 
of scenery placed in the alleys to represent grottoes and cas- 
cades. The light in these portions is so artistically arranged 
that it is some time before you discover the deception. 

At the back of the music-stand is a large building used as 
a cafe and restaurant, and adjoining it an immense hall to 
which the dancers repair in case of rain, but which is usually 
filled with groups seated around little tables, sipping refresh- 
ments. Pistol galleries are close by, and form one of the 
most popular features of the entertainment. It would aston- 
ish you to see the proficiency of the women who frequent the 
galleries. They are far more skilful than the men who ac- 
company them, and as you watch them you can't help think- 
ing that some day the skill of these reckless creatures may be 
exercised on something more sensitive than the wooden target 
at the end of the gallery. 

It is the dancers' ■circle that is the principal attraction, 



PARIS EY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 699 

however. It is thronged with promenaders, and is the noisi- 
est and merriest place in the garden. You see the chef d' 
Orchestre^ place a small board in a slide at the side of the 
music-stand. It is painted with the word " Waltz," " Polka," 
or " Quadrille," and is the signal for persons wishing to dance, 
to take their places, and the announcement of the character 
of the dance. Immediately there is a rush to the sanded 
floor. Little circles are formed by the spectators, as many 
as half a dozen at the same time. The open space in eacli is 
amply su£S.cient for the dancers, and the spectators crowd 
around it in rows, three deep. Etiquette is thrown aside, 
every one struggling to obtain a place in the inside row. If 
a man tramps on your toes, he apologizes hastily, but does 
not cease his efforts to push by you to the front. It is 
amazing to see how quickly these groups are formed, and 
how suddenly they disperse at the close of the dance. 

The Quadrille is the most popular dance at all the public 
balls of Paris, inasmuch as it affords greater freedom for the 
antics of the dancer than either the Waltz or Polka. The 
groups were forming for one of these as I entered the garden, 
and I was fortunate enough to secure a place in the inner 
row of the circle nearest the entrance. Four couples had 
taken their places, and the orchestra was pouring forth the 
most delicious strains. The four women in the circle before 
me were all young. The oldest could not have been more 
than twenty-five and the youngest seemed under twenty. 
They were all ugly and terribly faded. They were thin and 
pale, and even the cosmetics which they had used so skilfully 
could not conceal the ravages dissipation had made in their 
features. 

The music which had until now been soft and subdued, 
suddenly burst into loud and thrilling strains, and the dance 
began. For awhile the regular figures were adhered to, but 
at length the dancers launched into their own and almost in- 
describable extravagances. A young man, apparently not 
more tlian twenty-five, with a handsome but wicked face, 
suddenly abandoned his companion and darted into the centre 



700 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

of the circle. By a powerful effort he sprang into the air, 
and came down cracking his heels together in time to the 
music. He had scarcely touched the ground before, giving 
himself a whirl he spun around and around with such great 
rapidity that it made my brain dizzsy to watch him. Then 
pausing as suddenly as he had begun, he staggered back to 
his place amidst the applause of the spectators. A young 
girl, brown eyed and with long masses of chestnut hair, then 
bounded to the centre of the circle, and commenced to throw 
herself into the wildest and most indecent positions, in which 
exhibition she was soon joined by another of the group, older 
and darker than herself. Each fresh pose was more pronounced 
than those which had preceded it, and called down lively ap- 
plause from the spectators. One of the women suddenly 
sprang into the air and then came down on the ground with 
both legs at right angles to her body. A shout of laughter 
hailed this exploit, and a dozen hands were held out to help 
her from the ground ; but disdaining all such aid, she sprang 
lightly to her feet, and both she and her companion took 
their places for their final effort. Deliberately gathering up 
their long skirts they threw them over their shoulders and 
thus left themselves unencumbered and exposed to the public 
view from their waists to their feet. In this condition they 
executed all manner of capers, with the utmost ease and cool- 
ness. One of the spectators venturing to thrust his face too 
close, the younger girl suddenly threw up her leg and with 
her foot sent his hat rolling into the circle amidst the yells 
and laughter of the lookers on, and without pausing a 
moment went hopping around the circle with her foot higher, 
than her head. The other, seizing her left foot in her left 
hand, raised it to a level with her head, and holding it there 
executed a remarkable dance with her other leg, never lower- 
ing her foot until she had regained her place. Then the men 
attempted in the most grotesque and ridiculous manner to 
imitate the antics of the women, and failing in every instance 
drew down shouts of laughter. 

Suddenly there is a pause in the music, and the dancers take 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. .701 

their places again, and then bursts forth the rich, vohiptuous 
cadences of the Can-can, against which French nature is power- 
less. The dancers seem inspired with new life, and plunge into 
the passionate dance with a fury that fairly astonishes you. 
Such dancing, such einbracings and coquetry, such utter 
abandonment of everything like individuality, such entire sur- 
render to the sensuous influence of the music, can be seen 
nowhere but in this garden. The applause grows more enthusi- 
astic, and what little modesty is left to the dancers is thrown 
aside, and they tread the thrilling measures with a zest only 
to be seen in Parisian women of their class. The brown haired 
girl has closed her eyes, and has gathered her drapery under 
her arms. She sees nothing of the scene around her, but hears 
only the music and the applause. She is pale and panting, 
but she keeps on and on in the wild dance, until her strength is 
utterly exhausted. Her partner is tottering, fairly broken 
down, but is ashamed to be surpassed in strength by a girl, 
and he has merely energy enough to catch her in his arms as 
she fells heavily towards the ground, with a purple flush 
suffusing all her face. I think she has fainted, but I hear 
her murmur, gaspingly, "^5S(?2," as she is supported to a seat, 
and I see her partner hurrying oft' to the cafe to revive his 
strength with a glass of brand}'-. In a few minutes the brown- 
haired girl has recovered herself, and is the centre of a group 
of admirers who compliment her on her skill. 

And so the scene is continued until long after midnight} 
and until you are sick of, and disgusted with, the place and 
the performance. 

The dancers are all professionals, regularly engaged by the 
establishment, and in receipt of small but stated salaries. 
Their proficiency could not be equalled by amateurs, for 
many of their antics require long and persistent practice. 
The men are dressed in shabby black suits, as a rule, and the 
women are singularly devoid of taste in their appearance. 
Their jewelry is flashy, and they are altogether ugly and un- 
attractive. I have yet to see a pretty face amongst the 
dancers at Mabille. The women are excessively vulgar, and 



702 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

in this respect as well as in their lack of taste, differ very 
greatly from the rest of the Demi-Monde. They are famous 
only for their indecency and their skill in dancing. Yet while 
they are allowed a vast amount of license in their displays, 
they must not pass the limits that have been set. Occasionally 
you will see some sallow-looking individual, dressed in black, 
force his way to the front rank of spectators and shake his 
head warningly at the dancers, when they venture to throw 
off all restraint. He is one of the "Administration," and it 
is his duty to watch over the morals of the place. 

As a rule, the dancing is done entirely by the professionals, 
but sometimes the women will succeed in enticing some of 
the male spectators to join them in the dance, and occasion- 
ally, when the merriment is at its height, some woman from 
the audience will join in the sport, and these amateurs gener- 
ally surpass the professionals in their extravagancies. The 
Parisian women of all classes seem to be attacked by periodi- 
cal and irresistible fits of frenzied dissipation, and some of 
them come here to allay the thirst for excitement which is 
consuming them. 

One night last Spring, there was an illustration of this at 
Mabille. A young woman, very handsome and well dressed, 
was dancing with a recklessness which made her the princi- 
pal object of attraction. She was a stranger to the place, and 
no one knew her history. Intoxicated with the applause 
which was showered upon her, she gathered her draperies 
about her and throwing her foot high into the air, began a 
series of movements which made the whole place ring with 
plaudits. Suddenly she paused, and staggered back, with 
her face as white as the grave. Her eyes were wild and fall 
of fear, and she exclaimed in a voice of horror, " My hus- 
band f The next instant she had disappeared in the crowd. 
The spectators burst into a roar of laughter at this unex- 
pected denouement^ and turning in the direction indicated by 
her gaze, saw a young man, about thirty years old, standing 
with folded arms. His pale face and determined air silenced 
the laughing crowd. "Yes, gentlemen," said he, huskily, 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AXD GASLIGHT. 708 

" this new star whom you have been applauding, is my wife 
— the mother of my children. I came here to murder 
her. Yes ! whenever I meet her again, I will shoot her 
down." The garden police now came up, and politely re- 
quested the stranger to leave the grounds, assuring him that 
his wife had left in a carriage. As soon as convinced of this, 
he withdrew, and the merriment, which had been so strangely 
interrupted, was resumed. 

The garden is the most popular resort of the Lorettes of 
Paris, and you will find all the better members of this class 
collected here. Many of them come with the hope of ensnar- 
ing admirers into their toils, and others for the purpose of 
black-mailing visitors. A stranger, after a slight conversa- 
tion with one of these women, will be told by her in a con- 
fidential way that her pocket-book has been stolen, and that 
she has no money to pay her carriage fare from the garden 
to her home. She does not wish to interrupt the gayety by 
complaining to the Administration, and asks his advice as to 
the course she shall pursue. The gallant stranger asks how 
much money the lost pocket-book contained, and upon being 
told, " only a mere trifle — ten francs," generously slips that 
amount in her hand and tells her not to mind her loss. He 
is rewarded with a sweet smile and a profusion of thanks, 
and — the beauty soon finds an excuse to get rid of him, and 
plays the same trick on half a dozen others before the even- 
ing is over. 

As a rule, these women do not dance unless they find them- 
selves unable to attract attention in any other way. To dance 
in this place is always a last resort, and the Lorette looks 
down with contempt upon the professionals engaged here. 
They come to Mabille as spectators, to meet their friends, and 
to form new acquaintances. You find hundreds of them 
scattered through the audience. Men approach and converse 
with them, and even promenade with them in the face of the 
audience, without the slightest hesitation. Nobody seems 
ashamed of such companionship at Mabille,. but, on the con- 
trary, each one seeks notoriety. 



704 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

if you go into the cafe jou are worried to death bj the 
vendors of bouquets and toys. Those who have ladies with 
them are especially annoyed by these pests. As soon as these 
vampires espy one of the habitues of the place in comjDany 
with a gentleman, they approach the pair and offer their 
wares. If the woman does not urge her companion to buy, 
the flower merchant is sure to accuse her to the Administra- 
tion of some outrageous offence against the rules, and thus 
secure her expulsion from the garden. In consequence of 
this, these vendors do a smart business, and some are said to 
have made comfortable fortunes in this way. 

The audience represents every class in the city, for every- 
body who can raise the price of a ticket, and command a 
decent suit of clothes, goes to Mabille. Men come here with 
their wives and daughters, and afterwards wonder that the 
morals of French women should be loose. You will see the 
wearers of proud titles here, mingling promiscuously with the 
clerks and salesmen of the shops. Everybody is on an 
equality, and social distinctions and observances are entirely 
forgotten. Strangers, Americans and English in particular, 
are liberal patrons of Mabille. Our countrymen «eem to find 
it very attractive, for you will see a liberal sprinkling of them 
in the audience upon any night. You may see men who, 
at home, are terribly scandalized at the fondness of our Ger- 
man citizens for their beer gardens and Sunday pastimes, pro- 
longing their stay here on fete nights beyond the hour of 
twelve, and into Sunday morning. They bring their wives 
and children here, and all parties seem to enjoy the affair with 
great gusto, until you stumble across them and recognize 
them. Then, how they blush and stammer, and try to apolo- 
gize for their presence here. You laugh at them good- 
naturedly, and pass on, wondering what they will say of the 
place when they go back home. 

Towards midnight there was a rapid movement of the crowd 
from the cafe and dancing space, into the gardens. I followed, 
curious to see the cause of the sudden commotion, which was 
soon explained by the popping and fizzing of some indifferent 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 705 

fire- works, wjiicli were scarcely Avortli seeing, and wliich filled 
the garden with a sulphurous vapor, to the great discomfort 
of the entire audience. Then the dancing was resumed and 
continued until half past twelve. 

As a distant clock chimed the half hour, the musicians left 
their stands, and the servants began to extins-uish the ]io;hts. 
A general rush was now made for the gates. I followed with 
the crowd, and in a few minutes found myself standing in tlie 
Avenue Montaigne. The night was clear and beautiful, and 
tlie Champs Elysees were so quiet that I turned a deaf ear to 
the importunities of the coachmen, and set out for my hotel 
on foot. Down the broad avenue and through the Place de 
la Concorde I passed at a lively pace, never seeing a soul save 
a solitary Sergent de Yille, and two or three poor wretches 
snatching a few moments of sleep on the benches under the 
trees, from which they were soon to be aroused by the rough 
hand of the policeman. The city was so quiet that I could 
scarcely believe it the same bustling, lively Paris of the 
past twenty-four hours. As I turned out of the Rue Roj^ale 
into the Boulevard, an old, withered dame, in one of the news- 
paper kiosk^ looked up from her knitting, to ask me the hour, 
and when I told her, sleepily remarked that she might as well 
go home, as she would sell no more papers that night. 

As I walked along the silent streets, I wondered that 
people should find Mabille so fascinating, for I had come away 
completely disenchanted. The dancers were ugly and vulgar, 
the spectators were but little better, and the women were 
mercenary sharpers. The garden Avas pretty enough, and 
the music was good, but on the whole I found Mabille a very 
tedious place, and one that I cared but little to see again. In 
everything but indecency it seemed to me a very ordinary 
affair, but in that quality I confess it deserves especial 
mention. 
45 



YII. 
THE CASINO. 

The Casino is tlie Mabille of tlie winter months. It is 
situated in the Rue Cadet, a narrow, dirty street of the Fau- 
bourg Montmartre. You may leave the Boulevard Mont- 
martre by the Passages Jouffroy and Yerdeau, the latter of 
wliich ends opposite the Rue Cadet. There is a ball at the 
Casino every evening, commencing at eight o'clock ; but the 
most interesting are the masked balls held here during the car- 
nival. They begin at midnight and close at dawn. 

At the entrance you see two cherubs holding blazing 
torches aloft, and three angels gazing down at the doorway, 
in pity, perhaps, for those who enter beneath them ; a line of 
gas jets stretching across the entire front of the building, and 
the word " Casino " in fiery letters above the door. You 
purchase your ticket, and are required to deposit your over- 
coat with and receive a check for it from an old woman near 
the door, for which you pay ^ few sous, and then pass in. 

The hall is immense, and is surrounded with high galleries, 
filled with persons sitting around little tables, drinking and 
smoking, and watching the scene below. At one end is the 
orchestra, in a lofty box, and the floor is filled with dancers 
and promenaders. Seats are arranged around the hall in 
which the dancing is going on, and beyond this is a second 
hall filled with promenaders. 

The scene a-t Mabille is repeated here, with many additions. 
During the carnival, greater license is allowed, and the guests 
are all masked. The costumes are fantastic, and often amus- 
ing, and the manners of the revellers of the freest character. 
Whatever you may see at Mabille, you will hardly find 
706 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 707 

respectable womea here, unless they come under the cover 
of their masks, and you may safely assume that there is not 
a lady in the entire assembly. In the galleries you find 
many women masked, sitting or promenading alone. They 
are here in search of adventures, and you may be sure that 
all will not go away unsuccessful. The crowd is merry, and 
the halis resound with laughter. The women smoke as well 
as the men, and drink harder. The faces are hidden, but 
you see some dainty hands poising a cigarette or raising a 
glass. In the promenaders' saloon, and in various retired 
corners, you see men and women in masks, carrying on earnest 
conversations in low tones. Evidently they are old friends. 

On the floor, the dancing attracts large crowds, which 
throng around the dancers as at Mabille. The costumes of 
the dancers are not so modest as at Mabille, and the perform- 
ance is of the same character. Some of the dancing is very 
good, and cannot be censured in the least degree ; but much 
of it is simpl}'- outrageous. This is especially the case when 
the ball is at its height, and the sport grows wild and reek- 
less. Often when some dancer, more brazen than her com- 
panions, " brings down the house " Avith her extravagant 
2Joses, she is seized by her admirers and borne on their shoul- 
ders around the hall, amidst the shouts of the spectators. 

All the night long, and until the gray streaks appear in the 
east, this mad revel is kept up. In carnival time, no one 
seems to sleep in Paris. Go on the streets when you will, 
they are full of revellers returning from these balls, of which 
there are many in the city. The Oasino and Mahille are the 
most select in their respective seasons of winter and summei-, 
and therefore I have called the reader's attention to them. 
With one exception, the others will be passed by without 
notice, for those described are types of the entire class. The 
suburbs are all provided with ball rooms and gardens of a 
similar character, and draw large crowds from tlie city. But 
having seen one of these amusements, it is useless to expect 
to find anything different at the others. They are all con- 
ducted upon much the same plan, and are foul blots upon this 
great city, whicli has done so much for civilization. 



Till. 

THE CLOSERIE DES LILAS. 

On tlie left hand side of the Boulevard Sdbaatopol or Saint 
Michel, just oppposite the gardens of the Luxembourg Palace, 
is the greatest curiosity of the Latin Quarter. It is called the 
Closerie des Lilas^ or Jardin Bullier^ (Bullier being its proprie- 
tor) in the summer, and the Prado in the winter. It is, in 




Clo«ene des Lilas 



short, the place ^vh';.'re the students' balls are held. I said in 
the last chapter that any of the gardens would serve as a 
specimen of the rest, but I must except this one. There is 
nothing like it in Paris. 

The Jardin Bidlier is entirely roofed over and closed in, in 
the winter, forming an immense saloon capable of containing 
708 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 709 

^several thousand visitors ; but in the summer a portion is 
thrown open and converted into a pretty garden, ornamented 
with statues, fountains, and flowers. 

This garden is essentially a family affair. Monsieur Bul- 
lier is proprietor ; his wife acts as cashier ; the directors are his 
nephews and cousins; the dressing rooms are in charge of 
a nephew; the refreshment department is presided over by a 
cousin ; the tobacco and cigar stand is kept by an old aunt ; 
the shooting gallery is in charge of his brother-in-law ; and 
the inspectors of the ball, and many of the waiters in the 
caf^ are distant relatives of the proprietor. 

On the ball nights the Boulevard is filled with streams of 
people hastening to the garden. You do not see the fine 
dresses, and gorgeous jewels that shine at Mabille. The 
crowd is plainer and less aristocratic, but merrier and noisier, 
yet to the throng of blouses and poverty-stricken women 
around the entrance, these people seem very princes. The 
poor wretches of the quarter flock about the entrance at 
night, and gaze enviously at the merry creatures who pass in 
and out of the bright gates. 

You buy your ticket at the entrance which is guarded by 
a statue-like soldier with a huge sabre and a big brass helmet, 
and turning sharp to the left pass down a flight of stairs into 
an immense hall. In the summer the lower end and right 
hand side of this hall open upon a pretty garden, but in the 
winter the entire space is roofed over. In the centre of the 
hall is an immense and gaudily painted music-stand, occupied 
by the orchestra. The place is ornamented and arranged in 
the style of an " Ori-ental Garden " sa}'- the guide books, but 
it is as little like one, as an establishment so thoroughly 
French can be. At all events it is very pretty, and is all 
ablaze with light. Eows of seats and tables are arranged 
along the side of the hall next the gardens and scattered 
through the grounds. 

Eows of noisy students line each side of the steps and ex- 
tend into the hall below. Every woman who enters is the 
object of witty remarks or jokes from these youngsters. The 



710 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

hall is filled witli a noisy, excited crowd, and jour ears are 
deafened with the yells and peals of laughter which salute 
you as you enter. Everybody is smoking, and the air is 
misty with clouds of tobacco smoke. At the tables are 
groups of men and women smoking and drinking, some of 
the women being seated on the laps of their escorts, with 
one hand resting on the shoulder of the man, and the other 
holding a glass of beer or wine. 

At Mabille the dancers are few, and are provided for the 
amusement of the visitors ; here everybody dances, and does 
so from love of the sport. The men are principally students, 
with a few of the "small gentleman" class thrown in, and 
the women are the mistresses of the students, shop girls, and 
what is left of the grisette class. The haughty dames of 
Mabille rarely patronize the Closerie, but sometimes they 
come here in force, and enjoy a dance with the students right 
lieartily. They would not for the world be found dancing at 
Mabille, but here — the case is differen.t. 

The Closerie was formerly the place above all others where 
the grisette could be seen in all her glory. A few of this 
class still linger about the garden, but the age is " demoraliz- 
ing" this place, too, its old frequenters tell you, and the 
grisette is almost entirely changed into the Lorette. The 
simple, pretty dresses and caps of the female habitues of old 
times, are rarely seen here now, but in their places are gaudy 
toilettes and flashy jewelry. Yet the audience, as I have said, 
is very difierent from that at Mabille. 

The students are in their glory. You find hundreds of 
them here, in their shabby dresses and queer hats, and with 
their short pipes stuck in their mouths. They are wild, 
picturesque fellows, if I may use the latter term, and set at 
defiance everything like formality. They are a noisy set, 
too, and the place resounds with their yells. At first you 
think them intoxicated, but you soon discover that they are 
drunk only with excitement. 

You find no foreign fashions, and hear no foreign airs at 
the Closerie. The music, like everything else, is thoroughly 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 711 

French, and the dancing is more animated than at Mabille, 
and quite as indecent. These students and their partners are 
no triflers when engaged in the dance. Thej go at it in down- 
right earnest, and pause only when thoroughly exhausted. 
As soon as the music begins, the dancers take their places, 
and the crowd must stand aside. The women wear short 
skirts and are frequently without bonnets or wrappings, all 
of which gives them greater freedom of motion. Then com- 
mences a performance similar to that I have described in 
the preceding chapter, but it is wilder and more frantic here 
than elsewhere, and is engaged in more extensively. The 
Can-can, which has been described as " the perfection of in- 
decent pantomime," is in its glory here. " It has but little 
regularity about it, and to the spectator who sees it for the 
first time, it has apparently none. It has, however, its small 
amount of system, but the principal merit of the dancer is 
within two given points, the beginning and the end of a 
strain to commit as many extravagancies as possible, and to 
throw his body into as many unnatural and bizarres positions 
as the structure of the human frame will permit of. A very 
fine accomplishment, for instance, is to be able to throw a 
back summersault in the face of your fair partner, while she 
elevates her leg in the air until the tip of her toe and the 
crown of her head are upon the same horizontal line. It is 
not at all inartistic to be able to double yourself up into a 
knot and roll upon the floor, while the beauteous daughters 
of Terpsichore dance around in a circle, after the manner of 
the savages in the Sandwich Islands. It is a good thing, 
also to be able to agitate your legs, arms, and head with such 
rapidity as to present the appearance of a misty shadow. 
This accomplishment, however, I am told, is but rarely met 
Avith. In short, the more horrible or impossible the positions 
the more artistic the dances. The province of the fair sex 
lies principally in the legs, though a few unnatural and 
comic contortions of the body are considered no mean 
dition to the talent of 'elevation.' The fair one who 
lifts her legs highest and with the most rapidity and fre- 



712 PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

qnency, is considered the most artistic, and a favorite and 
charming amusement of hcau sex is to send some open- 
mouthed greenhorn's hat flying with the tip of her toes. 
During all this time the most infernal yelling must be kept 
up — the true spiciness of this exquisite dance consists in that 
harmonious adjunct. The most celebrated dancer in the Latin 
Quarter is a young man, or rather a pair of long legs sur- 
mounted by enough body to keep them together and receive 
their sustenance, who rejoices in the pleasant soubriquet of 
Sardine, although in no respect does he resemble that ' brief 
aquatic animal. Sardine leaps higher than any one else, 
and dances around among the women, who pass between his 
legs with perfect facility, with all the air of the great artist 
he is generally esteemed to be. He is the envy of all the 
students and the despair of all the women. Now he throws 
one leg ten feet in the air — now he leaps clear over the head 
of some astonished woman, and throwing a graceful summer- 
sault, twists himself like a corkscrew back to his partner, 
whom he salutes by gently waving his leg over her head." 

Those who come here to dance, throw aside all restraint, 
and plunge wildly into the vortex of dissipation. They give 
themselves up entirely to enjoyment. The French student 
is nowhere so extravagant as here, but he is too much in 
earnest to seem ridiculous. The women forget sex, modesty, 
everything, and plunge into the thrilling dance with an 
abandon which adds fresh fuel to the excitement of the 
students. Look down the hall at the line of dancers, and 
3'-ou will see a dozen or more women, with their draperies 
almost over their heads and their feet thrown high into the 
air. .Others, clasped in their partners' arms, are whirled 
around in this condition until they fall fainting on some 
student's breast for support. At times the furious excitement 
of the youths is carried beyond all bounds by a scene like 
this, and the panting grisette is seized and held aloft by a 
dozen madcaps, who carry her around the hall with yells, 
such as can issue only from the lungs of French students. 
The excitement is contagious, and ifc spreads amongst the 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 713 

spectators who add their applause to the general din, in the 
midst of which the music of the orchestra sounds faint and 
far awa}^. 

Those who do not dance are expected to patronize the Caf^ 
more liberally than those who do. There is no admission fee 
demanded of women. Any member of the fair sex who is re- 
spectably dressed can enter here unquestioned, the proprietor 
shrewdly reckoning that at least two men will follow each 
woman to the place. Young girls come here in great numbers. 
Some of them have not yet fallen into sin, but in a little while 
the}'- will date their sad careers from the Jardin Bullier^ for 
no woman can come here often and remain pure. The temp- 
tation Avhich the place offers is increased by the free admit- 
tance. If a girl can provide herself with a neat, though plain, 
dress, and can slip away from home without being discovered, 
she is very apt to find her way to the Closerie^ and from there 
to a worse place, so that it may be said with truth that this 
garden has done as much to destroy morality amongst the 
women of the Latin Quarter as has been accomplished by the 
loose ideas and looser habits of the students. To charo-e a 
single franc admission, would keep many a woman away, so 
Monsieur Bullier opens his doors to the fair sex, and offers a 
free entrance to the road to ruin to all Avho will seek it in 
his garden. 



IX. 

THE DEMI-MONDE. 

You cannot go into any public place in Paris without 
meeting one or more women that you will recognize at a 
glance as belonging to the class known in French society and 
fiction as the Demi-Monde. You find them at the theatres, in 
the concert halls, in the Cafes, on the Boulevards, in the 
Champs Elysees, and at Longchamp they have almost driven 
respectable women from the ground. Before you have been 
in the city a week, you will be convinced that these women 
are very numerous, but you will hardly be prepared for the 
official statement which estimates their number at thirty-five 
thousand. 

Prostitution being legalized by the French Code, women 
who resort to it as a means of support are rec[uired to report 
themselves to the police, in order to have their names in- 
scribed u]"<on a Eegister kept for that purpose, and receive a 
card, which they are obliged to show when required by the 
police. T,he number of women so inscribed is five thousand, 
of which eighteen hundred live in licensed houses of prostitu- 
tion, and the rest in their own apartments. Besides these are 
some thirty thousand women, known to the police as " street 
walkers," who have no cards, being not yet registered. They 
constitute the majority of the women who throng the Boule- 
vards and Cafes. If detected in plying their trade clandes- 
tinely, they are arrested and conveyed to the police head- 
quarters for registration, but considering the openness with 
which they conduct themselves in public, one cannot resist 
the conviction that the police are very remiss in their duty 
714 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 715 

in tbis respect. All registered women are required to sub- 
mit to medical inspection once a week, on pain of fine and 
imprisonment. Those found in need of treatment and those 
as to whose condition the physician is in doubt, are sent to 
the hospitals and are not discharged until restored to health. 
Stringent regulations are also in force in regard to licensed 
houses. Tlie proprietor is required to furnish the police with 
the name and age of every woman residing in the house, and 
must, at any hour of the day or night, afford free access for 
the police to her premises. The occupants are not allowed 
to parade the streets in search of company, or to appear at the 
windows of the house, which must be always covered with 
blinds outside and beavy curtains inside. 

Women rarely seek the Register except as a last resort, or 
when they are detected and forced to do so by the police; but 
it occasionally happens that a young girl will come forward 
voluntarily, and ask to be inscribed, and for no other reason 
than that such a life suits her fancy better than an honest 
one. 

" We happened to be one day," says the editor of a Paris 
newspaper, "in one of the bureaus of the Prefecture of Police, 
when a young girl presented herself, and without any hesi- 
tation, asked to be inscribed on the Eegister of abandoned 
women. 

" The Inspector, regarding her with compassion, said: 

"'My poor child, you are very young to take to such an 
infamous life. Have you reflected on the consequences?' 

" ' Yes, Monsieur, I have ; but I n:iust have a ;posilionJ 

" ' Position ! why not work ?' 

" ' Pve never been taught anything. I've run away from 
home because my father beat me, and now I'm on the jaaw/' 

" ' You look strong. Couldn't you go to service?' 

'• She drew herself up suddenly as if she had been stung. 

"'Service!' she said. 'None of my family have ever 
come to that, and I'm sure I never will !' 

"She was immovable, and the Inspector was forced to 
enroll her amongst the lost." 



716 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

" This inscription of women who would devote themselves 
to the regular exercise of debauchery," says Alfred Delvau — 
" this inscription in the mysterious Eegister that no profane 
eye has ever peeped into — once done, is irrevocable. Even 
when she has amended her ways, the mark of infamy always 
remains in the implacable Eegister. 

" With this Eegister, none except the chief officers of 
justice can have communication. The administration is 
inflexible in this respect. Often, on the eve of a marriage, 
tormented by a horrible doubt, resulting from an anonymous 
letter, the future husband goes to the Bureau of public 
morality, demanding, in the name of honor, the truth relative 
to his future bride ; in the name of honor they refuse to 
enlighten him. But, as they do not wish that an honest man 
should be deceived, they send for the girl privately, and 
endeavor to persuade her to break off the intended union." 

These women are scattered all over the city, but a sufficient 
number of them occupy the Quartier Breda to give it a not 
very enviable notoriety. The parish church of this quarter 
is that of Notre Dame de Lorette. Some years ago, this led a 
facetious novelist to apply the term " Lorette " to the women 
of the town, and the terra has clung to them ever since, but 
at present bids fair to be superseded by that of Cocoite. 

Of the causes of the immense spread of immorality of this 
kind, I am unable to speak ; but it seems to me that almost 
every feature of French society is favorable to its increase. 
A large majority of the Lorettes come from the poorer classes. 
They begin as the mistresses of students, clerks, or workmen, 
and some gradually " rise," as they term it, in their infamous 
profession. The police authorities tell you that a number of 
them deliberately adopt this mode of life in order to gratify 
their taste for luxury and display. Many enter upon it 
because of bad treatment at home, and many are led astray 
by scoundrels. Yet, when one considers the absolute absence 
of moral principle amongst a large portion of the people of 
Paris, the wonder is that the number of lost women is not 
greater. Young girls of the poorer classes find that marriage 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 717 

is not popular amongst their acquaintance, and perhaps see 
their own parents living in open adultery, and they not un- 
naturally learn to set a low price upon their virtue. Another 
cause given by the police, is the huddling of families together 
in a single room. We have experienced some of the bad 
effects of this evil in the tenement houses of our own city of 
New York, and can readily imagine the extent of the bad 
effects of the system in a city like Paris. Indeed, one accus- 
tomed to the ideas and habits of our own countrv, will be 
astonished at the utter absence of decency amongst tire work- 
ing classes of Paris. You will hear conversations between 
husband and wife, in the pr«sence of their daughters, that are 
only fit for a brothel. This being the condition of the society 
in which the poor girl is brought up, is it strange that she 
enters upon that most dangerous portion of her life, without 
the means of resisting the temptations which lie in her path- 
way ? She finds her own lot very hard, and is told that she 
can procure an amelioration of it by what she has been raised 
to regard as a very slight sacrifice, which must be made some 
day. She desires ease and finery rather than labor and 
poverty, and she lends a willing ear to the tale of the destroyer. 
Women of this class formerly furnished the material from 
which the grisettes were drawn, but the grisette is no lono-er 
one of the "institutions" of Paris. She was a creature of 
simple habits, who was satisfied with one lover at a time 
She devoted herself to him more heartily than most French 
wives do to their husbands, and lived but for him and in his 
society. She worked hard to provide herself with funds to 
contribute to their little store, and the bond that united them 
was, for the time, at all events, an earnest attachment to each 
other. The feeling was usually temporary on the part of the 
student, but often permanent on the part of the poor grisette, 
wlio, when abandoned by her lover, too often, in the old • 
times, broke her heart or jumped into the Seine. Now the 
case is different. The women have learned a taste for luxury, 
and have found that it is more profitable in a pecuniary point 
of view to have a dozen lovers than a single one. The day 



718 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

of broken hearts is over with them ; when deserted by a lover 
they seek another, and give the preference to him who has 
the longest purse. Even the students have changed. " Many 
have been driven, by the ridicule that attaches to vulgar mis- 
tresses who cannot spell, who speak bad grammar and have 
rouwh hands, not into the society of virtuous women or 
women of the world, but into that of the Lorettes, who are 
really the most corrupted of their old friends, more dashingly 
dressed, and therefore more greedy of money and presents, 
which were not thought of before, and altogether a less agree- 
able and more demoralizing society," 

Suicides are still frequent amongst this class of the Demi- 
Monde, but they are not for love. Most women when dis- 
carded by their protectors go to the streets with a recklessness 
which bodes them no good, but others, after having enjoyed 
a little luxury and happiness prefer the Seine to the chances 
of picking up a living in this way. But, as a general rule, 
the frail creatures have but little difficulty in changing from 
the grisette into the Lorette. A writer referring to this 
says: *' When the grisette was popular, no young man 
would consent to be without his Mimie or his Kigolette ; and 
now that the Lorette has come into favor, there is an increas- 
ing demand for that sort of thing, of all qualities and prices. 
On this rock the work-girls split; and this is the cause why 
they are less pure, if I may be allowed to use that word, than 
formerly. A real Lorette is a gulf that swallows up fortunes. 
The students, therefore, have, in many cases, tried to train 
their humble companions, whom they loved of yore, with 
their red hands, rosy faces, plain caps, and simple gowns, to 
imitate the Aspasias of the Eue de Breda, They begin to 
think it vulgar to listen to vows of constancy uttered in bad 
French, and to receive hillds doux which only love can de- 
cipher. Genteel immorality has become the fashion. This 
is the reason why, to a certain extent, the grisette, under her 
simple aspect, has disappeared. All free girls are forced to 
try and emulate the fine lady, under pain, if they do not suc- 
ceed, of losing their admirers. It is not difficult to persuade 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 719 

them to this ; for one of the essential qualities of the Lorette, 

the c comme il faui — is to be dazzlingly, voluptuously, 

miraculouslj'' dressed : and many poor things fancy they are 
quite naughty enough to be amiable, if they can only emulate 
the toilettes that have driven nearly all nominally modest 
women from Longchamp."'* 

I have used the terra " lost " in speaking of these women, 
but in Paris I should be laughed at for it, for the French do 
not regard a woman as " lost " until she has sunk into the 
gutter. A woman who commits a fault in society is simply 
"imprudent," or, at the most, "unfortunate." People shrug 
their shoulders and laugh ; such things will happen, and will 
probably happen again before the woman is many years 
older. As for the Lorettes, they are not only tolerated, but 
are absolutely popular. That many of them are handsome 
and graceful, and that the most of them are more refined and 
modest in their deportment than the same class of any other 
nation, cannot be denied ; they are lively and brilliant, also, 
and occasionally are generous. As a rule, however, they are 
calculating and mercenary ; they are merciless in their extor- 
tions, and ask no better sport than to ruin the men who are 
foolish enough to become entangled in their snares. The 
ideal Lorette of the Dame aux Gamelias tj^pe does not exist. 
The real Lorette is very different from the charming heroine 
M. Dumas has depicted. 

Of the thirty-five thousand abandoned women of Paris, but 
a few are raised above the chances of want. Do not be de- 
ceived by the splendid toilettes and the profusion of jewelry. 
They may be hired for the occasion. jSTot long since a 
m.agnificently dressed creature was thrown from her carriage 
in the Champs Elys^es and terribly injured. The by-standers 
at once ran to her assistance, a cab was called, and the un- 
fortunate woman placed in it. A gentleman who had been 
prominent in rendering assistance, lifted his hat politely, and 
asked, ^ 

* Purple Tints of Paris. By Bayle St. John. 



720 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

"To what place will Madame direct the driver?" 

A cloud of sorrow swept over her face, and she replied 
bitterly : 

" To the hospital. I have no home." 

Poor creature ! she had scarcely enough to pay her carriage 
fare. 

A few of these women, however, live in magnificent style. 
You will see them at the races and other public places in 
their gorgeous equipages, and often in company with the 
proudest gentlemen in the land. They are gorgeously ar- 
rayed, and are the merriest and most brilliant women present. 
Some of them are possessed of considerable wealth, and while 
plying their infamous trade as steadily as the commonest 
street- walker, utterly repudiate the title of Lorette. Of this 

class is Madame P , who occupies a magnificent house in 

the Avenue des Champs Elysees, and who is famous for her 
good dinners. A letter from Paris thus describes a recent 
entertainment at her house. " Including herself there were 
eight persons at table. The dining-room was lighted with 
eight hundred rose wax candles. Dinner was served by six- 
teen servants in livery. No house in the Avenue des Champs 
Elysees cost as much as hers. The steps of the stairs are of 
malachite, and the doors and chimney pieces of her drawing- 
room are made of the same costly material. The meanest 
window of the house has curtains which cost one hundred 
dollars. All her fruit, vegetables, milk, butter, come from 
her estate, Chateau de Pontchartrain, which she purchased, 
paying three hundred thousand dollars cash for it. There 
she has orangeries, pineries, grape-houses, and forcing-houses, 
which supply her with fruit and forced vegetables. Her 
dairy, garden, and stables are managed by English servants; 
her linen by Dutch servants ; she has in her kitchen a Ger- 
man for her confectionery, an Italian for her ices. Every 
day she is in Paris a van drawn by four horses brings from 
the farm what she desires for the kitchen, and flowers for the 
house. She refuses to allow Lorettes to visit her. Mile. 
Rachel and Mme. Roger de Beauvoir were her friends ; you 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 721 

know their reputation. Of course, no respectable woman 
sets foot in her house ; but there are men for whom a good 
dinner has irresistible charms, and who are inquisitive about 
her in all her phases, who go to see her, and accept her invi- 
tations to dinner. She gives a dinner weekly from Novem- 
ber 15th, to the 15th of May." 

It has become the fashion for men of position to spend 
much of their time and substance upon these women, who as 
a rule are cold and heartless creatures, but capable of a good 
action now and then. Men leave their wives and children 
at home, and appear in public with these women. Go to 
Longchamp, and you will see a Duke leave his seat by the 
side of one of these modern Phrynes, and with the utmost 
coolness approach and salute a lady of his acquaintance and 
rank. His conversation with her ended, he saunters back to 
the side of his frail companion, and society laughs at his im- 
pudence, but does not resent it. Women see their husbands 
thus drawn away from them, and wonder what can be the 
nature of this subtle influence against which they are so 
powerless, 

"It has often been remarked, that when some celebrated 
Lorette announces the sale of her furniture — an event that 
may signify either a rise or fall in position — a great number 
of women of the world always hasten to ' view the premises,' 
under pretence of a desire to purchase, but really in order to 
penetrate once, at least, into what their imaginations have 
represented to them as something mysterious, marvellous, 
and dangerous. To a large class of French married women 
the routine of ordinary life, the round of daily duties un- 
sanctified by affection, and scarcely inspired by duty, becomes 
early distasteful ; and the very fact that men who can mix in 
the most amiable and brilliant circles, and who have beautiful 
wives of their own, often seek the society of the Phrynes of 
the Quartier Breda, suggests the opinion — not unfounded — 
that these beings have some secret power of fascination irre- 
spective of personal charms. Ladies would give the world 
to possess it. This accounts for the curiosity which all women 
46 



722 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

who dare to speak the truth express to know the details of 
Lorette life. Some, more venturesome than others, though 
rather virtuous than the contrary, allowing themselves only 
one lover at a time, have sought for interviews with the most 
famous of their rivals, imagining that they could learn the 
art of seduction from them as from professors. Yain hope ! 
They will always be defeated if they fight with borrowed 
weapons. But in every country, if women would devote a 
little more of their time to developing their companionable 
qualities, and, forgetting those which they have been forced 
to acquire in order to lure us, foolish youths, into matrimony 
— if they would read more and play less, speak better, sing 
no German or Italian, leave anti-macassars to manufacturers, 
who can make them as well and cheaper ; and, if they must 
work, occupy themselves in household duties — if they would 
do all this, in as far as it suited their husbands' tastes, they 
would not need to enter into vain competition with Lorettes 
or Opera-dancers. However, after all, the men are, perhaps, 
as much to blame as they."* 

The true Lorette takes care to retain her influence over 
her victims as long as possible. She drains money from them 
in the most reckless manner, and sends many a man to ruin. 
She has no heart, and when she can no longer make use of a 
lover, she turns him into the street, and is careless as to 
whether he blows out his brains or not. As long as he has 
money she is all smiles and tenderness; but when his purse 
is exhausted she cuts his acquaintance without compunction, 
and will not give him so much as the price of a cup of coffee. 
A few Lorettes save their money, and have provided them 
selves with snug fortunes, but the majority squander their 
wealth as fast as it flows in. 

The public attentions which these women receive from the 
gentlemen of Paris, embolden them to all sorts of impudent 
tricks. They will decorate their carriages Avith the arms of 
the proudest families in France, and when one is asked how 

* Purple Tints of Paris. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 723 

she dares do so, she will reply with an impudent laagb, 

that Monsieur the Count of P , or Monsieur the Duke of 

X , as the case may be, is more devoted to her, and more 

attentive to her before all the world, than to his lawful wife, 
and that therefore she claims his arms as her own, as well 
as his heart. At a recent ball, one of the most notorious 
Lorettes present wore a gold necklace composed of medal- 
lions, each one of which represented a different coat of arms, 
none belonging to any noble of lower rank than marquis. 
Another upon a recent occasion made a bet with a wild 
young Duke that she would secure a recognition from the 
Empress Eugenie. A day or two after this, while the Em- 
press was riding in the Bois, this woman, splendidly dressed, 
placed herself on the route of the Imperial carriage, and 
bowed most respectfully as the Empress passed by. Her 
Majesty looked at her for a moment, and then supposing her 
to be a strange lady of rank, returned the salutation very 
graciously. Of course the woman won her bet, but the joke 
was too good to keep. The Duke with whom the wager was 
laid, was a relative of the Empress, by marriage, and relished 
the affair too keenly to keep it quiet. Accordingly it came 
to the ears of her Majesty, and the " fair stranger " received 
a polite note from the Prefect of Police, ordering her to quit 
Paris within twenty-four hours. 

A stranger is astonished to see how regularly many of 
these women conform to the outward forms of religion. They 
attend mass quite regularly, though the confessional is not so 
popular with them. Pore Hyacinthe was quite a favorite 
with them, in spite of his denunciations of them, and they 
went in considerable numbers to hear him at Notre Dame. 
The first intimation the great preacher had of this was one 
day at Notre Dame, during a course of sermons against the 
follies and dissipations of the age. He had scarcely begun 
preaching, when to his horror and the disgust of the good 
women who composed his audience, Cora Pearl, the most 
notorious of all the Lorettes of Paris, entered the Cathedral, 
gorgeously dressed, and sailing up the nave, seated herself 



724 PAKIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

in one of the most conspicuous chairs, and right under Pere 
Hyacinthe's nose. For the first time in his life, the great 
orator was scarcely able to find words for his thoughts. The 
impudence of the gay creature took him entirely by surprise, 
and for awhile bewildered him. That evening all Paris was 
laughing at the affair. 

I find in the correspondence of a New York journal, the 
following pen and ink sketch of Cora Pearl, which the reader 
may take for what it is worth : 

"An hour after I had found Blivins, and before nine 
o'clock of that evening we were both dashing through the 
asphalt streets in a voiture de remise to find Cora Pearl. 
After some swift riding we found ourselves before the door- 
way of a handsome building in the Rue du Chasuse d'Autin. 
At the portal a light was burning, and as we descended and 
knocked, a porter, in a puce velvet coat, admitted us into a 
a wide hall- way, on both sides of which statues of Greek 
divinities stood. 

" There was a warm sensuousness in the hall-way, and a 
brilliant stream of light flooded the back part of the building, 
which Blivins and I could see from where we stood awaiting 
the pleasure of the gayest woman in Paris. After waiting a 
few minutes, another flunky descended, whose coat was a 
marvel of red velvet and golden embroidery. He had flesh- 
colored tights, such as I believe his mistress once wore when 
performing as an actress, or ritualistic ballet-girl, in the 
'Folies Dramatique.' 

" ' I have given your cartes, gentlemen, to ''' The Mademoi- 
selle," and she will reward you with an audience as soon as 

she has concluded her interview with the Comte de P .' 

In a moment the Comte passed out — a handsome, gentlemanly 
fellow, wearing one of those frightfully high tiles which are 
affected by the wild young men of Paris. Up the stairs we 
went following the flunky with the burlesque legs. We 
waited in an ante-room for a few minutes while the crim- 
son individual went in to announce us, stating before he 
went in. ' that it was customary for Mademoiselle to dress 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 725 

very often during the day, and that she was now engaged in 
finishing her sixth toilette.' The ante-room was a large one, 
and well furnished. Pictures hung around and above us, 
and the ceiling was frescoed with an allegorical picture 
representing Jupiter and Leda. The servant admitted us to 
the boudoir and we were received by the lady of the mansion, 
who did not rise, but sat reclining, with her head against an 
ottoman, on a splendid tiger-skin which was edged round 
with gold fringe. She motioned Blivins to a seat, greeting 
him warmly and with what I thought was an over-studied 
courtesy. She conversed a few moments with my friend, 
in French, and while she talked I had time to look about me. 
"The salon was about sixty feet long by thirty wide, and 
the ceiling was probably fifteen feet from the velvet carpet. 
Velvet decorated the walls, hanging in crimson folds some- 
what like the arras hangings that I had seen in some of the 
mildewed chateaux of the French nobles. There was in the 
front of the salon an immense mirror framed in gold, and 
inside of the golden frame was a sub-frame of crimson velvet. 
The lounges, chairs, ottomans, and buffets were trimmed with 
velvet of the same warm color. The carpet on the floor was 
a Gobelin, in which was worked a pictured design of the port 
of Marseilles, at a cost of ten thousand francs. There were 
richly carved statues of Parian, bronzes, antique and richly- 
painted vases, shells standing on golden tNpods, caricatures 
of dogs' heads, tigers' heads, and the bodies of serpents, with 
their glistening eyes — all of which articles had more or less 
of the precious metals in their composition. Pictures of 
Diana of Poictiers, Margaret de Yalois, Theroigue de Meri- 
court, Charlotte Corday, Lady Jane Grey, Anna Boleyn, 
Louise de Valliere, the Maid of Saragossa standing by the 
cannon's mouth in the breach of a Spanish walled-town, and a 
supposed mistress of John Wilkes Booth, of whom I had 
never before heard. These were all done in oil, well painted, 
and magnificently framed. The place of honor, however, 
was reserved for Ninon de Lenclos, the mistress of one of the 
Bourbon kings. This picture was a beautiful work of art, 



726 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

and represent(^d the beauty, of the old French Court, reclining 
opposite a mirror. There was a small figure piece by Meis- 
sonier, and a statue of Minerva of pnre marble, from whose 
spear head depended a small but richly chased gas-chandelier 
of six burners that spread a flood of light all over the salon. 
A quarter of a million of francs would not have purchased 
the furniture, carpets, statues, paintings, and ornaments in 
this gorgeous salon, to say nothing of the diamonds which 
covered the neck and arms of the beautiful but frail mistress 
of the mansion. 

" And now for Cora herself. This distinguished personage, 
as she lounged on the tiger-skin, looked to me a little above 
the medium height of women ; her hair, of a rich, silky 
brown, full and lustrous, was looped in coils at the top of the 
back of her head, a la Grecque, and was trimmed with small 
red flowers. From her ears were pendant long, oval, dia- 
mond ear-rings, and on her snowy neck was hung a necklace 
of pearl shells interwoven with diamonds, worth a monarch's 
ransom. Her arms were bare and rounded, and her shoulders 
decollette. She Avas attired in a loosely flowing robe of pink 
yelvet — the only thing pink I saw in the apartment — and at 
her waist was a plain thin denture of gold. She wore her 
dress without hoops, which allowed the folds of her costly 
robe to fall over her shapely limbs in studied yet artistic 
confusion. On tKe different fingers of both hands were rings 
of topaz, sapphire, ruby, emerald, amethyst, and opal, fastened 
by gold keepers. She had crimson slippers, embroidered in 
gold, and in her right hand she waved to and fro, lazily, a fan 
of costly feathers. The woman herself was a magnificent 
animal to look at, with a spice of the tiger shining out of her 
clear, lustrous eyes. The neck was well poised and finely 
cut, as were the face and shoulders. The mouth was largo 
and full of good, white, regular teeth, which she displayed 
often during the conversation to advantage. The nose was 
irreo-ular, pert, and snubbish, and the chin like the cone of a 
ripe peach. Something there was brazen in this woman's 
face, despite the magnificence reigning in the apartment. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. T27 

Her voice was Joud, sharp, and her gestures unladylike, 
though she endeavored to atone for these defects by a studied 
ease which occasionally lapsed into a masculine freedom. 
She was continually showing her rings, her fan, and her slip- 
pers impatiently, and careless of the little prudential details 
that go to make up the manner of a virtuous woman. 

" ' Allow me,' said Blivins, ' to introduce to you. Madem- 
oiselle Cora Pearl, the correspondent of the New York World, 
who wishes to have the distinguished honor of a few moments' 
conversation with you.' 

" This was said in a chaffy, free sort of a way, which the 
Princess of the Demi-Monde ^eemed rather to like. 

" 'And you are from America,' said she, in English, with 
a slight mixture of Putney and the Faubourgs. ' I love 
Americans. They are so generous, so noble, and so spirituel. 
Their natures are not gross, and they always have plenty 
of money. I have met many Americans. I have bere a 
piece of your noble star-spangled-banner, which I revere as 
a relic given me by a gallant American gentilhommeJ 

"The conversation continued for some minutes, Blivins 
occasionally joining in, and venturing remarks about un- 
pleasant bodies, clavicles, thoraxes, and like cheerful sub- 
jects. 

"'Blivins,' said she, 'please do get rid of the shop when 
you bring a friend to visit me. I can't a-bear your slang 
talk.' 

'"Are you fond of poetry, Mr. Correspondent?' said Cora 
to the writer. 

" ' I am,' said I. 

" ' I do adore poetry,' said she. ' I am so precious fond of 
Mr. Swinburne.' 

'"Yes, she was always fond of Algy,' said the reckless 
sawbones, plunging in. 

" '■Do stop your slang, Blivins,' said the Cockney Lorette. 
'I have read all of Swinburne's poems, and I do think he is 
delightful. Ob, I do tbink his "Laws Veneris" are beautiful. 
He uses sich cbice langwidge. But be will drink such a 



728 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

precioQS lot. However, there is no harm in him. I'm very 
fond of Byron, too. What a horrid nasty beast of a woman 
that Harriet Beecher Stowe is ; and poor Byron was such a 
duck of a man, such a love of a creature. I think it was a 
shame for her to write that nasty thing of him after he was 
dead. I have a copy of his poetry which was presented to 
me by the Prince of Wales. The Prince of Wales never 
comes to see me any more. He is a nice fellow, is the 
Prince if he would only pay his debts ; but he won't do 
that.' 

" Here this fascinating young lady walked across the carpet 
to a small gilt table stand, supported by a tripod, and from it 
took a handsome volume, bound in ivory and gold, with 
richly bevelled edges, and going to the tiger-skin again, 
threw herself upon its surface. After having modestly 
disposed her skirts, she read as follows: 

' Thrones, worlds, et cetra, are so oft upset 
By commonest ambition, that, when passion 
O'erthrows the same, we readily forget, * 

Or at the least forgive, the loving rash one. 
If Anthony be well remembered yet, 
'TisSaot his conquests keep his name in fashion ; 
But Actium, lost for Cleopatra's eyes, 
Outbalances all Caesar's victories. 

'He died at fifty, for a queen of forty — 
I wish their years had been fifteen and twenty ; 
For them wealth, kingdoms, worlds are but a sport— I 
Eemember when, though I had no great plenty 
Of worlds to lose, yet still, to pay my court, I 
Gave what I had — a heart ; as the world went, I 
Gave what was worth a world ; for worlds could never 
Restore me those pure feelings, gone forever.' 

" ' How sweet that is ! His description of love is exquisite, 
isn't it, Blivins?' said Cora to the sawbones. 
" 'Oh, it's heavenly, I think,' said Blivins. 
" ' And how well he finishes,' said Cora, reading . 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 729 

' 'Twas the boy's " mite," and, like the "widows," may 
Perhaps be weigh'd hereafter, if not now ; 
But whether such things do or do not weigh, 
All who have loved, or love, will still allow 
Life has nought like it. God is love, they say, 
And Love's a god, or was before the brow 
Of earth was wrinkled by the sins and tears 
Of — but Chronology best knows the years.' 

" Cora threw the book aside and lay wrapt for a few min- 
utes. Her reverie was brolcen by Blivins, who, having no 
poetical afflatus, said abruptly : 

" ' Might I ask you. Mademoiselle, to favor us with a small 
drink V 

" ' Certainly,' said Cora, ' call my Nubian, Bourbaki.' 

" Blivins rang a bell, and as if by magic a huge African, 
io blue baggy trousers and blue turban, entered the room. 
He was a magnificent fellow, over six feet high, but seemed 
docile as a child. Cora gave her orders to him in French ; 
he salaamed and disappeared for a moment, and when he re- 
appeared he bore a richly chased silver salver, Avith tAvo long- 
necked bottles covered with dust, and the slender-necked 
Venetian glasses, 

" * You have there, gentlemen,' said the mistress of the 
house, ' Hungarian Tokay and our own dear Cliquot, of 
which I am very fond.' She helped herself to a glass of Cli- 
quot, and the Nubian passed the Tokay flask to Blivins, who 
drained the long-necked glass to the bottom. I did not 
drink. After enjoying the frail lady's hospitality for a few 
minutes further, we rose to go, but before allowing us to de- 
part, she said : 

" 'Gentlemen, I don't know whether you are fond of music 
or not, but if you will permit me I will play you something. 
Many of my friends are not musical, but whenever Prince 
Poniatowski comes here, he compels me to play. All his 
friends are musical, I never allow low people to visit me. I 
hate them. My friends are the Colloredos, Esterhazys, Bruns- 
wieks, Metternichs, Hamiltons, Colomas, and Montmorencis. 



7dU PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Tbej couldn't a-bear low people, and neither could I. I will 
give you a waltz that I love.' 

" Saying this, she sat down and rattled off a lively waltz, 
after which she rose from the melodeon and, standing at her 
full height, made a stately courtesy to us, throwing her skirt 
all over the carpet; and, taking our leave, that was the last I 
saw of Cora Pearl. Her wild escapades and mad frolics, ,her 
extravagance, love of diamonds and horses, and the treachery 
and hard-heartedness for which she is famous in Paris, need 
not be detailed here by me, and, in fact, I would not have 
mentioned her at all but for the fact that she is an English 
girl born and bred, a Cockney of the purest kind, and a 
demon at heart, despite all her seeming gayety and reckless- . 
ness. The man in the red velvet coat and flesh-colored 
stockings opened the door for us, and we passed out." * 

♦Correspondence of the New York World. 



X. 

THE CHIFFONNIERS. 

The Frencli Government, finding that it cannot prevent 
misery, undertakes to regulate it, and for this reason has made 
the business of picking up rags and rubbish in the streets a 
regular profession. Persons who follow it are called Chiffon- 
niers. It is said that there are several thousand chiffonuiers 
in Paris, including persons of both sexes, from children ten 
or twelve years old to men and women of seventy or eighty. 
Some of these have been persons of refinement and education, 
who have been brought so low by folly and dissipation, others 
are broken down Lorettes, and others still are the children of 
chififonniers. They constitute a distinct class, and live chiefly 
in a miserable section of the city near the old Barrihe des 
Deiix Moidins. They are subject to stringent police regula- 
tions, but amongst themselves are governed by their own 
laws, and are ruled over by a king of their own choice. Not 
long since the " King of the Rag-Pickers " died, and was 
honored by his subjects with a public funeral. An English 
journal thus describes the deceased monarch : 

" A great man has just died in Paris — P^re I'Epingle. In 
Paris, far more than in London, there are private persons 
who by force of character become in a manner public. They 
are known to everybody ; anecdotes about them are current ; 
and there are constant references to them in the public prints. 
Pere I'Epingle was one of these — tlie king of the rag-pickers, 
who has just died, in orthodox phrase, much regetted. The 
rag-pickers are a band of individuals peculiar to the French 
metropolis who appear at dusk with baskets on their backs, 

7a 1 



732 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

book, stick, and lantern in hand, to see what paper, rags, bones, 
and unconsidered trifles may be picked up in the streets. 
They are a large bod}^, strictly under the supervision of the 
police, for even in this humble trade a license is necessary. 
On the breast of each rag-picker may be observed a brass 
number, by which the public recognize that the wearer has 
been duly authorized.- The rag and bone trade has alwaj'-s 
been known as profitable, and some rag-pickers rise to con- 
siderable wealth. When their king expired, therefore, this 
important section of Parisian society was able to make an 
adequate demonstration of honor to his memory. No less 
than twelve hundred of them turned out to follow the hearse 
of Pere I'Epingle. Whence the monarch came, however, 
and who he was, no one seems to know. Perhaps Marshal 
Canrobert, to whom he was secretary many years ago in 
Africa, may be able to tell. At least, P5re I'Epingle, when 
hard pressed, has been heard to give this clue to his antece- 
dents. Under his bed was found a packet of papers with this 
inscription — ' To be burnt after my death.' Round his neck 
was a medallion enclosing a miniature portrait of Rachel. 
Often, when any of the inhabitants of his quarter, called the 
Isle of Monkeys, was in trouble, Pere I'Epingle would dis- 
appear for several hours, sometimes clays, but he never came 
back without money wherewith to relieve the afflicted. This 
much for P^re I'Epingle's private life. His political life 
was exemplary. He was really king over his territory, and 
his subjects adored their monarch. He signed their treaties, 
settled their quarrels, and judged their delinquencies. He 
congregated his people around him, and lodging in the same 
neighborhood they afforded each other mutual protection. 
All thieves were immediately forced to leave — banished for 
life from the vicinity. Woe to them if they attempted to re- 
turn. But the kingdom of P^re I'Epingle was far too honest 
for the frequent incursion of thieves. Besides being monarch, 
Pere I'Epingle was also doctor. He manufactured his own 
medicines, which he gave to his people gratis. He also 
undertook the duties of Minister of Instruction. He kept a 

s. 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 733 

library, lent his books, taught children to read and write, 
all gratuitously. Finally, like a wise ruler, P^re I'Epingle, 
dying, chose a successor, whose name is Philipe le Eebouteur 
— Philip the Bonesetter." 

In entering upon the duties of his profession, the chiffon- 
nier is required by the municipal law to procure a license, 
for which a small sum is demanded. He is also furnished 
with a brass medal engraved with his number. Persons who 
have been convicted of crimes cannot obtain a license, and it 
is said that the chiffonniers as a rule are exceedingly honest, 
and give very little trouble to the authorities. 

The outfit of a chiffonnier consists of a wicker basket, 
holding about a couple of bushels, which is strapped to his 
back, a lantern attached to a piece of wire long enough to 
enable him to carry it close to the ground, and a stick about 
a yard long, with a hook on the end of it. Thus equipped, 
the rag-picker starts out on his rounds. 

The residents of the city have no dust bins attached to 
their houses, but are required to empty their rubbish and 
kitchen offal in heaps, in the street before their doors, be- 
tween dark and daylight. This is generally done before nine 
o'clock, and at ten o'clock the chiffonniers sally out for their 
first round. Holding the lantern in the left hand and the 
stick in the right, they pass rapidly and silently along the 
streets, darting here and there, pausing at each dust heap to 
overturn and ransack it. This search is made with the stick, 
and as fast as an article is discovered, it is jerked up with the 
hook, and slung over the shoulder into the basket. If you 
accost them they will not pause from their work, bat will con- 
tinue their search while conversing with you, Avith their eyes 
bent on the ground, and their bodies in a half-stooping posi- 
tion. Long practice has made them perfect, and you may 
be sure that nothing on the street will escape their searching 
gaze. Lost articles almost invariably find their way to them. 
They are required by the law to convey everything of a 
definite value to the nearest Commissary of Police. If the 
chiffonnier fails to do so, he is liable to be punished for 



734 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

theft. The Commissary gives him a receipt for the article, 
and registers his name and address. The article is then sent 
to the Prefecture of Police, where it is held for identifica- 
tion by the owner for a year and a day. Every week a list 
of the articles thus found is published in the official journal. 
The owner upon recovering his property may reward the 
tinder if he sees fit, but if an article is unclaimed at the expi- 
ration of the time stated above, it is returned to the finder 
upon presentation of his receipt. 

Could you examine the contents of the chiffonnier's pam'er 
or basket, you would find a queer collection of rubbish — old 
rags, bottles, pieces of metal, bones, sometimes with a little 
meat clinging to them, old shoes, bits of leather, broken glass, 
pieces of paper, the backs of books, cigar stumps, lumps of 
tobacco v/hich have been thrown away by some " chewer" of 
the weed — perhaps an American — decayed vegetables and 
fruits, in short, rubbish of all kinds upon which you would 
find it hard to set a value, but for which the rag-picker will 
find a market before morning. Both women and men smoke. 
They provide tobacco for their pipes from the cigar stumps 
they pick up in the streets, and what they do not need of this 
article for their own use, they sell to tobacconists who make 
it into cigarettes. 

They are ragged and filthy as a rule, bloated and blear- 
eyed, and the women are simply hideous. Yet, although so 
squalid and wretched looking, they are satisfied with their 
lot. They manage to pick up a living, and do not regard 
their mode of life as *' work." They go out when they 
please, and spend as much time in idleness as they like. 
They are thoroughly independent, too, and if you offer one a 
piece of money, he will probably draw himself up with all the 
haughtiness he can command, and tell you he is not a beggar. 
Make friends of one of them, and induce him to introduce 
you to his quarter, and j'-ou will see a settlement in the heart 
of this great city, which will make the splendors of the 
Boulevards seem odd to you when you come back to them. 

About an hour after midnight the chiffonniers, having 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 735 

finished their first round, usually repair to some of the 
wretched wine shops in the vicinity of the Halles Centrcdes, 
where they pass the remainder of the night in imbibing a 
fearful beverage to which they have given the name of Casse 
poitrine. Towards dajdight they start out on another round, 
unless too drunk to leave the wine shop, and upon finishing 
this, carry their wares to the shops of the chiffo7iniers en gros, 
who are simply the wholesale rag merchants of the Eag- 
Pickers' Quarter. These shops are sometimes very large 
establishments, and resemble our junk shops very much. 
They are fearfully dirty, and the atmosphere is so foul that 
one unaccustomed to it cannot breathe it. A large force of 
workers, men and women too old to do anything else, called 
Trilleurs, is employed here in separating and assorting the 
rubbish brought in. 

The majority of the chiffonniers are between the ages 
of seventeen and thirty-five years, and sometimes whole 
families are engaged in this avocation. They live in dark, 
dirty cellars where the pure sunlight and fresh air are un- 
known, and where the very atmosphere is poisoned with the 
filth of the streets that clings to them. They are huddled 
together in the closest quarters, without regard to age or sex, 
and as a consequence are not the most moral portion of the 
population of Paris. They pay three sous for a lodging, and 
five sous for a meal in the cook-shops of their quarter. It is 
a wretched mode of life, and one that you may well thank 
Heaven is not yours; but wretched as it is, these peo|)le seem 
to like it. Indeed, there is an irresistible fascination for the 
Parisian in vagrancy of any kind. Your chiffonnier would 
not change places with the most fortunate workman in the 
city. He takes pleasure in the thought that neither he not 
any of his family have ever been forced to luork for a living. 
True, his lot is hard, and without any chance of being better ; 
but he is a philosopher — and — anything is preferable to 
regular systematic work. 

Besides the chiffonnier there is a night wanderer, whom I 
inav call the Interloper, who occupies a grade below the 



736 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

regular chiffonnier. He has no license, and is unknown to 
the police. He steals out cautiously into the street with a 
bag on his back, and keeping close in the shadow of the 
walls, follows in the track of the chiffonnier, and picks up 
what that worthy does not consider of sufficient value to 
entitle it to a place in his basket, and it is tbe pieces of 
bread and decayed food thus procured, which furnish him 
with many of his meals. The regular chiffonniers regard 
these people with great jealousy and distrust, and rarely miss 
an opportunity to denounce them to the police. 

The lowest of all in the social scale is the Ravageur. This 
poor wretch spends his time, when the river is low, in hunt- 
ing along the shore for nails, and bits of iron and other 
metals, finding often spoons, knives and forks in this way. 
You will see him digging up the river mud in pans, and care- 
fally washing it in the hope of finding something which he 
can sell for a sou or two. There are so many miserable ones, 
so many without hope in the beautiful city 1 




738 



XL 

THECARNIVAL. 

In all Eoman Catholic countries, the season of Lent is 
observed with great rigidness, and as a preparation for it, the 
people set aside the week immediately preceding it, and 
devote it to all kinds of dissipation and excess. This season 
is called the Carnival, and is marked by a number of sports 
peculiar to it, the principal of which are the masked balls 
which take place in various parts of the city, the most im- 
portant being the masked balls of the Grand Opdra, which are 
given on each Saturday night of the Carnival season. They 
commence about the middle of December, and continue until 
Mardi Gras, the day before Ash Wednesday. Tickets may 
be procured either at the box-office of the Opera, or at the 
place where you hire your costume. The balls begin at 
midnight and close at five o'clock, a. m. They are the 
choicest pleasures known to the Parisian. In whatever dis- 
sipation he may engage during the rest of the year, he always 
remembers the Bal de V Opera, and takes care to save as much 
of his energies as possible for the most vigorous enjoyment 
of these revels. 

I shrink from attempting to describe the Op^ra ball. No 
language can do it justice, and those who once witness it 
never forget it. The immense auditorium is handsomely 
decorated, and is a blaze of light. The pit is floored over on 
a level with the stage, which is arranged so as to afford the 
most ample accommodations to the dancers. At the back of 
the stage an elevated gallery contains the wonderful orchestra 
of Johann Straus. 

739 



740 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

The streets leading to the Opera are thronged with those 
who will never see the inside of the building, watching the 
maskers as they arrive. Everybody is alive with merriment, 
and the night air is jubilant with laughter and happy voices. 
As soon as the doors art opened the crowd pours in, and by 
the time the music for the first dance begins, the hall is 
thronged. All is gayety here, and the noise and shouts of 
the maskers almost drown the music of the orchestra. The 
floor is filled with a confused crowd, dressed in every con- 
ceivable costume, and representing almost every personage 
known to history or romance. It is not necessary to be " in 
costume " to obtain admittance to the floor. An evening 
dress and a simple mask will accomplish this ; but persons 
without masks are required to remain in the galleries, which 
are also open to the maskers. 

Everybody goes to the ball, but the better classes take 
care to preserve their incognito if they appear on the floor. 
They readily appear in the galleries with or without masks, 
but to be seen on the floor dancing in such a promiscuous 
crowd, would subject them to the most unpleasant scandal. 
Yet they do go there, and they do dance under the impene- 
trable cover of their masks and disguises. Could you remove 
all those dominos, and have each separate individual pointed 
out to you, you would find the prince and the barber hand 
in hand, and a duchess on the arm of a shop-keeper. More 
than this — there would be some very unpleasant disclosures 
of a social character. Monsieur would discover that Madame 
whom he supposed safe at home and removed from all this 
dissipation, was the lady who had whispered to him so mys- 
teriously, to follow her ; and Madame herself would not be a 
little terrified to find that the stranger with whom she had 
passed the last half hour was none other than her own hus- 
band. It is no place for respectable women, but they flock to 
it in disguise, and drain its wicked pleasures to the lees. 

" An incident occurred a year or two ago at one of these 
balls that might have furnished matter for a farce, except 
for the catastrophe. A married man announced to his wife 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 741 

that lie was suddenly called away into the country — an old 
worn out trick — and went to the ball with some friend, prob- 
ably a lady. The wife immediately suspecting what was 
planning, said nothing; bade him, indeed, an affectionate fare- 
well ; and as soon as his back was turned hastened to a dealer 
in costumes, hired a rose colored domino, and at a due hour 
went to the Opera. After some wanderings about and a few 
flirtations, the disguised lady came upon her husband, who 
was very warm in his attentions to a companion. However, 
he does not appear to have been overmuch fascinated ; for, 
seeing an elegant domino following him, with the vanity of 
his sex he imagined he had made a conquest entirely by his 
personal attractions, contrived to lose his partner, and eagerly 
offered his arm to his wife. Possibly she had not accustomed 
him to the gentle key in which she now spoke. At any rate 
he did not recognize her, and the courtship went so far that 
he offered, and she accepted, an invitation to an early break- 
fast at the Cafe Foy. No sooner had they reached the little 
saloon than, with many blandishments, he begged her to 
unmask; which she imprudently did, before he had touched 
the elegant meal laid out. Instead of laughing, as in a play, 
and pretending that he had known her all the while, which 
certainly she deserved for her ingenuity and her cleverness, 
the disappointed brute began instantly to abuse her; upon 
which she reproached him with his extravagance in taking 
her to so expensive a place, under the supposition that she 
was ' no better than she should be,' — he who used to grum- 
ble at giving her a two-franc dinner on Sundays ! The dis- 
pute lasted half an hour, after which the unreconciled couple 
ate the breakfast, 'that it might not be wasted,' and went 
sulkily home, she with bitter hatred that her joyous freak 
had ended in so humiliating a manner, and he vowing in his 
own mind never to forgive her because she had spoiled his 
pleasure. Animal I He was surprised afterwards when hi^ 

wife perceived that Monsieur , the grocer, had amiable 

qualities I" 

Stand in one of the galleries at the side of the house, and 



742 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

the whole scene is before you. The hall is filled in every 
part with persons in costume and in evening dress, with 
masks and without them. In the galleries you see couples 
standing in retired corners, or sitting far back in the boxes 
and conversing in low, earnest tones. On the floor a mad 
throng is whirling around and capering with the most frantic 
energy. Laughter and loud voices fill the air, the floor trem- 
bles beneath the rush of the dancers, and high over all, you 
hear that magic music of Johann Straus, throbbing and 
thrilling with a passionate sweetness and overpowering sensu- 
ousness which more than explain the intoxication of the 
revellers. All night long it goes on. The dreamy-eyed 
master stands in the midst of his band with a far away ex- 
pression on his face. He sees not the wild throng around 
him, hears nothing of the clamor which seeks to drown his 
music, his soul is revelling in the exquisite melodies that 
follow each wave of his baton. 

Mingle with the crowd, and listen to the snatches of con- 
versation that greet you as you pass along. Assignations, 
intrigues begun and continued, are frequently the topics of 
the discourse you overhear, while on all sides of you the wit 
and repartee are more pointed than elegant, and oftentimes 
degenerate into downright ribaldry. 

Towards morning the throng becomes thinner. The most 
aristocratic portion of the audience and the wealthier Lorettes 
take their departure about four o'clock, but the "crowd" 
stays behind for the last dance. As the hour for closing the 
ball arrives, the conductor gives the signal and the Orchestra 
bursts into the furious Galoj) Infernal. Instantly there is a 
rush for the floor. People seize each other with a frenzy 
that bewilders you, and then begins a mad whirl around the 
hall. Once started nothing can stop it. The dancers seem 
perfectly delirious with excitement. Many have been dozing 
in the boxes or galleries, utterly worn out with fatigue, but 
this devil's dance has put new life into them, and they go 
round and round in this furious whirl, which grows faster and 
more furious every moment. The exhausted band-master 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT.. 743 

presses his aching temples with one hand, while with the 
other he strives to urge his musicians to greater exertions. 
It is all in vain. No music, however infernal, could possibly 
keep pace with such a rout as this. Round and round whirl 
the frenzied maskers. If one loses his balance and falls, he 
is sure to be trampled on by those behind, unless he is active 
enough to regain his footing at once. There is no pause. 
The dance grows wilder, fiercer, and more infernal, and when 
at last the music ceases, there is a rush for the doors at the 
same mad speed, and the crowd pours out of the theatre into 
the street, and goes leaping, dancing and yelling into the 
Boulevards, where the keen, fresh air of the Sabbath morn- 
ing striking icily upon the flushed faces of the revellers, 
sobers them for a moment, but only for a moment. There 
are cabs in abundance on the streets, but many of the revellers 
are still too much under the spell of the wild scene they have 
just left, to think of riding, and so they go on, on down the 
broad street towards their distant homes, singing, laughing, 
and yelling, undisturbed by even the gloomy Sergents de 
Ville. 



PART III. 
SIDE SHOWS. 



745 




CLh 



p^ 



n 



I. 

VERSAILLES. 



THE PALACE. 

Early one Sunday morning I found myself in the crowded 
ante-room of the Western Eailway station, awaiting the start- 
ing of the train for Yersailles. There were a number of 




.7/ri*— 



Depot of the Western liailway. 



Americans in the throng, but they had bought tickets for the 
first-class carriages, while my billet entitled me merely to a 
seat amongst the crowd in the second-class coaches. Through 

747 



748 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

the barred doors opening on the platform, I had caught sight 
of long rows of carriages, each of which was provided with a 
number of seats on top. This second storj was roofed over 
and closed at each end, but open at the sides. Long flights 
of steps at one end of each car, led to the "Imperial" as it is 
called, and the whole arrangement seemed to me the very 
perfection of comfort on this warm August day, so that I did 
not envy my countrymen their seats in their elegant but 
close compartments. My hopes of enjoyment were fully 
realized as we whirled out of the station and through the 
tunnel by which the road emerges from the city. My lofty 
seat enabled me to survey the whole country on either hand. 
Paris lay all around me, but we were soon out of it, and 
were crossing the Seine at Asnieres. The boatmen were 
getting their little craft ready as we whizzed by them, and 
the pretty town was thronged with visitors. A train from 
the west drew up as we reached the station. It was loaded 
within and without with troops, and to my intense astonish- 
ment the merry fellows were chanting the Marseillaise — that 
forbidden, but irresistible hymn — with all their lungs, and 
as we dashed off they were still engaged in it. 

Our route now lay along the left bank of the Seine, and up 
the stream, through the pretty towns of Courbevoie, Puteaux, 
Suresnes, and St. Cloud, and along the • outskirts of some 
other places, Sevres amongst the rest. The country was 
beautiful, and the view magnificent. The city lay in full 
view for almost the entire distance, with the huge Arch of 
Triumph seeming to act as the centre of the circle we were 
describing. An hour's ride brought us to Versailles, a dull, 
stupid place of about forty-five thousand inhabitants. As 
you rattle through the streets in the omnibus from the 
station, you notice that the town is well built, and that the 
streets are broad and handsome in spite of the sleepy air 
which pervades everything. The reason is that Versailles is 
a finished city. During the residence of the Court at the 
Palace, it attained its present proportions and magnificence, 
but since Royalty deserted the old Chateau, it has been neg- 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 749 

lected. There are a few old houses in the place, famous as 
having been the residences of the courtiers of Louis XIY. 
and Louis XV., but apart from these there is little or nothing 
of interest in the town. 

As you descend from the omnibus at the palace gates, the 
old pile is before you in all its beauty. An immense court- 
yard enclosed by an iron fence faces you. The gateway is 
ornamented with sculptures, and in the court-yard is a row of 
statues representing sixteen of the most famous heroes of 
France, and back of these is an equestrian statue of Louis 
XIV. The pavilions which flank this court on the right and 
left were built by Louis XIV., for his ministers. Just in 
front of them, without the gates, and across the Place d'Armes^ 
are the old Eoyal stables, which once held a thousand horses, 
and now form an artillery barracks. 

The Palace stands at the bottom of the " Court of Statues," 
and is an immense range of buildings of brick and light- 
colored stone. It consists of a central building (the oldest 
part of the palace) and two immense wings. The central edi- 
fice is built around three sides of a court paved with marble. 
The old palace erected by Louis XIIL, is of red brick. When 
Louis XIV. enlarged the Chateau he ordered Mansard, the 
architect, to preserve the old building, and the latter made it 
the centre of the present pile, and ornamented the front with 
marble busts supported by brackets. This portion of the 
Chateau was always occupied by the Eoyal family, and the 
marble court was the scene of many historical events and 
interesting ceremonies. The three windows in the centre, on 
the first floor, belong to the bed-chamber of Louis XIV. In 
front is a pretty balcony, from which the death of the King 
was announced by the Master of the Household. This official 
appeared here, in the presence of the crowd assembled in the 
court below, and beaking his staff, proclaimed, "Ze Roi est 
morir Then taking up a fresh staff, he added, " Vive le Roi" 
The clock which ornaments the centre of the building was 
then set at tlie hour of the King's death, and the hands re- 
mained in this position until the death of his successor re- 



750 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

quired them to be changed. The last time this ceremony 
was observed, was at the death of Louis XVIII., in 1824, 
since then a King has never died in France. On the ground 
floor just below the bed-chamber, is a window at which the 
valet of the Grand Monarque announced the hour at which 
the King intended to rise, and it was from the balcony above 
that Marie Antoinette, calm, brave, and almost atoning for 
her faults by that single act of heroism, faced the angry 
crowd below on that dread October day. Can you imagine 
it, as you stand here, in this old, peaceful sjDOt ? — that pale, 
white-haired woman exposing herself to the fierce, hungry 
crowd that filled this court and who ignorantly hated her as 
the cause of their misfortunes ! Look down at the marble 
flags I They seem almost to have kept the prints of those 
furious footsteps, so worn and battered are they. 

But immense as the building appears from the front, you 
can form no conception of its size until you pass around to 
the gardens, and view it from the splendid western terrace. 
There you begin to realize its immense proportions, and you 
do not wonder that it should be the object of such pride and 
admiration on the part of the French people, for, aside from 
its historical memories, it is beyond all question the grandest 
and most imposing of all the palaces of France, having a 
rival only in the united Louvre and Tuileries. The western 
fagade is eighteen hundred feet in length, and the other parts 
of the building are admirably proportioned to this immense 
distance. I have been unable to ascertain the exact area 
covered by the palace, but the reader may form some idea of 
it from the fact that merely to walk at a leisurely pace 
through that portion open to the public, will consume over 
two hours and a half. 

Of the splendors of this pile I cannot hope to present a 
proper description. It was not occupied after the removal 
of Louis XVI. to Paris until the reign of Louis Philippe. It 
was in great need of repairs, and the "Citizen King" restored 
it and converted it into a Museum of " all the glories of 
France." This required an outlay of four millions and a half 







761 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 753 

of dollars, but the result has amply repaid the nation for the 
expenditure. 

The palace at present consists of a museum, and the old 
dwelling of the kings of France. The Eoyal and State 
apartments liave been left undisturbed, or rather have beeu 
restored to their original condition, but the wings have been 
filled with over four thousand paintings and one thousand 
pieces of sculpture. 

You enter by a side door in the Gour Royale^ and find 
yourself in a large vestibule, opening on one side into a 
range of rooms lined with pictures of all sizes, illustrating the 
history of France from the reign of Clovis to that of Louis 
XYI. This is the ground floor of the north wing. A door 
on the opposite side of the vestibule opens into the chapel, 
but you are not allowed to enter it, and must pass on by the 
prescribed route through the picture gallery. The pictures 
illustrating the same reign are gathered, as far as practicable, 
in one room, which is also adorned with portraits of the 
King and Queen, and other distinguished personages of the 
time. The pictures are all by modern artists, and are very 
fine. They occupy the entire suite of rooms on this floor, 
many of the rooms of the centre building and a large part of 
the south wing. The remainder of the ground-floor rooms is 
^ devoted to statuary, of which a very large and interesting 
collection has been formed. 

It would be impossible to attempt to describe the vast col- 
lection of paintings contained in the palace. The pictures 
occupy the apartments just named, and the principal rooms 
of the two upper floors, with the exception of the State 
apartments. I can only say there are miles of them, and that 
they represent every period of the history of France. The 
collections of the first and second Empires are yery full and 
interesting, but it is hard to select from amongst so much 
excellence. You will not grow weary of any portion of the 
Museum, for there is scarcely a painting but illustrates some 
subject which thrills you with admiration, or rouses your 
teuderest feelings. If I were Emperor of France, belure 
48 



754 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

sending my troops to battle, I would march them through 
these galleries, and I think I should thus make them invin- 
cible. 

When the galleries were opened many of Napoleon's old 
soldiers were still living, and the veterans flocked here to 
see themselves and their deeds on canvass. " All the curious 
ones who had been invited to witness the inauguration were 
transported with joy and pride. * * They continued their 
course, marching from triumph to triumph, stopping before 
the celebrated engagements, admiring at their ease, the great 
Emperor, in his different fortunes, in his various characters ; 
to-day crowned by the Pope, to-morrow marrying the grand- 
daughter of the C^sars, afterward conquered and a captive, 
but soon leaving his island, and returning like a conqueror 
to his kingdom of a Hundred Days, and again defeated and 
losing himself in the infinity of his misfortune and his glory. 
It must have been an interesting sight the day the Museum 
was opened, to watch the old veterans,, the invalided mar- 
shals, wounded on every field of battle, walking slowly, 
silent, but not unmoved witnesses, crossing with a weary 
step this Museum, or rather this field of war, melted even to 
tears, at the sight of their ancient triumphs, seeking them- 
selves in the fight, beneath the shadow of their eagles and 
their Emperor; so proud and so happy to find themselves, 
occupying their position of twenty years ago, in this un- 
equalled assemblage of all royalties, all nations, and all prin- 
ciples ! There were some, among these old heroes, who had 
not walked for ten years, but who stood erect again, at this 
smell of gunpowder. They returned to their happy days of 
encamping and privation. They again saw Toulon surren- 
dering beneath the cannon directed by that short young man 
of pale complexion and fiery eye ; they ascended the heights 
of Mont St. Bernard, dragging the artillery ; they descended 
into Italy amidst the sweet perfume of the orange trees and 
the roses ; they arrived in Egypt, and on those plains, laden 
with sand, at the foot of the pyramids, they contemplated 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 755 

with a smile the three thousand years which returned their 
look with alarm." 

The pictures themselves are not the only attractions. Many 
of the rooms were the aparments of persons famous in history, 
and are also models of architecture and ornamentation. The 
" gallery of battles" on the first floor of the south wing, is one 
of the most beautiful halls in the building. 

After the Museums, the most interesting portions of the 
palace are the chapel, theatre, State apartments, and private 
apartments of the king and queen. The chapel was built by 
Louis XIV,, and is Mansard's master-piece as well as his last 
work. It is one hundred and five feet long and seventy-nine 
feet high. You are permitted to inspect it from the gallery, 
which is the best point of view. It is a beautiful hall, and, 
as it fortunately escaped injury during the many revolutions 
through which it has passed, remains nearly as Mansard left 
it. The king's seat was in the north gallery, and he rarely 
went into the lower part of the church except to receive the 
sacrament, 

Louis XIY, made it a point to assist regularly at the mass, 
and it is related that the ladies of the Court were always very 
punctual on such occasions. The following anecdote is rela- 
ted in connection with this circumstance : 

" The major of the king's guards, Brissac, was of a pecu- 
liarly frank disposition, and detested hypocrisy. He had 
remarked, that even on the coldest winter days, the benches 
were filled by ladies every Thursday and Sunday, on which 
days the king was most punctual in his attendance at the 
Salut; and that if on the contrary, he was prevented from 
appearing, the attendance of ladies was remarkably small. 
Under the pretence of requiring lights to read their missals, 
these ladies had each a small taper lighted in front of their 
prie Dieu^ by which, likewise, they were more easily recog- 
nized. One evening when the king was really expected, the 
benches were filled to overflowing, the guards were at their 
posts as usual, when suddenly Major Brissac appeared in 
front of the king's empty pew, and, raising his stick, shouted 



756 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

to tho guards to withdraw, his Majesty will not be present 
to-day. The order was scarcely obeyed when a murmur was 
heard among the ladies, the tapers were suddenly extinguished, 
and with the exception of a few who were sincerely pious, 
the whole congregation disappeared. When Brissac felt 
quite certain that they had really gone, he recalled the guards. 
The king almost immediately arrived, very much surprised 
to find so many empty benches, and inquired the reason of 
Brissac, who instantly related the trial to Avhich he had put 
the piety of the fair dames of his Majesty's Court, at which 
the king and his attendants laughed heartily." 

The chapel was the scene of many imposing ceremonies 
during the residence of the Court at the palace. Here were 
married, the Duke of Berri, the grandson of Louis XIV., and 
the beautiful but infamous daughter of the Eegent ; Madame, 
the eldest daughter of Louis XV., and Don Philip, Infant of 
Spain ; and the Dauphin (Louis XVI.,) and Marie Antoinette, 
Archduchess of Austria. 

The Theatre, at the opposite end of the north wing, is 
a handsome hall, capable of holding about fifteen hundred 
persons. It was begun in 1753, to please Madame de Pom- 
padour, who was very fond of dramatic entertainments, but 
she died before its completion. It was inaugurated on the 
16th of May, 1770, on the occasion of the marriage of the 
Dauphin (Louis XVI.) with the Archduchess of Austria. 
After this it was frequently used for operatic and theatrical 
performances. On the 1st of October, 1789, it was the scene 
of the memorable banquet which was the signal of the down- 
fall of royalty. The real object of this banquet was to excite 
the loyalty of the regiment of Flanders which had just been 
added to the guard of the palace. An immense horse-shoe 
table was laid for three hundred guests on the stage. This 
was reserved for the ofl&cers. The privates were in the pit, 
the regimental band composed the orchestra, and the galleries 
were filled with spectators. At the height of the entertain- 
ment, the king and queen, accompanied by their children ap- 
peared in the royal box, and at the same moment the orches- 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 757 

tra began the passionate air " Richard^ mon Boi, r universe 
t''ahanclonne /" The effect was electrical, the whole assemblage 
burst into shouts of loyalty and devotion to the king, and 
the enthusiasm spread rapidly throughout the palace and the 
neighboring streets. The crowd escorted the Eoyal family 
back to their apartments, the tri-colored cockade was torn off 
and trampled under foot, and the royal emblems put on with 
eagerness. The news of this affair was at once carried to 
Paris, and the " good patriots" rushed out to Versailles to 
bring the king to his capital, where they could watch over his 
Majesty's morals and make sure that they were not corrupted 
by any more such unpatriotic scenes. 

From the upper vestibule of the chapel you pass into the 
magnificent State apartments of the old palace. They are 
very numerous and communicate with the private apartments 
of the king and queen. They are magnificently adorned, 
and are amongst the most gorgeous halls in the world. They 
date from the reign of Louis XIV., and are full of reminiscen- 
ces of the great king. The " Grand Gallery of Louis XIV." 
is one of the most beautiful saloons in Europe. It is two 
hundred and thirty-nine feet long, thirty-three feet wide, and 
twenty -nine feet high, and is resplendent in gildings, carvings, 
and frescoes. It was the great ball-room of the palace, and 
when the old pile was inhabited by the brilliant court of the 
Bourbons, the scene here must have been magnificent indeed. 
The Saloon of Mercury opened into the king's bed-chamber, 
and after the death of Louis XIV. his body was laid in state 
here for eight days. Those who are familiar with the history 
of this king, will have no dif&culty in calling to mind the 
scenes which transpired in these apartments, for they remain 
almost as he left them. 

The first of the royal apartments is entered from the 
Grand Gallery. This is the Council Chamber^ or, as it is often 
called, the Cabinet of the King. It was divided into two 
rooms during its occupancy by Louis XIV. One of these 
rooms was for the private use of the king, who retired into it 
frequently for the purpose of changing his wig. Here he 



758 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 



presided over the council of his ministers, the king sitting at 
the table covered with green velvet, which now stands in the 
centre of the room. Louis XY, often admitted his mistresses 
to these deliberations, and here, on one occasion, Madame 
Dubarry, sitting on the arm of his Majesty's chair, seized a 
packet of unopened letters from the table and threw them 
into the fire. It was in this room also, that Louis XYI. 
received M. de Breze, who came to inform his Majesty that 
the Deputies of the States General, had sworn a solemn oath 
never to separate until the Constitution was firmly established. 




Bed-Chamber of Louis XIV. 

If you have been fortunate enough to procure a special 
order in Paris, you pass from the Council Eoom to the Peiits 
Apariemenis clu Boi. These were the apartments in which 
passed the everyday life of the king. One of these, used by 
Louis XIV. as a billiard- room, was afterwards the bed-cham- 
ber of Louis XY., who died here of malignant small-pox. 
Next to this was the ordinary sitting room of the king. 



PARIS "BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 759 

Another, in Avliich you will notice a glass screen, was the 
Confessional, in Avhich the king confessed. Behind this 
screen, with a drawn sword in his hand, stood the Captain of 
the Guard, whose duty was never to lose sight of the king. 
This screen was erected during the reign of Louis XYI. In 
this suite are the king's private cabinet and his library. The 
rooms are handsome, but simple and tasteful. 

Returning to the Council Room, you pass from it into the 
bed-chamber of Louis XIV. Louis died here, on the bed 
that stands under the magnificent hangings you see against 
the wall. Here his Majesty used to go to bed every night 
and rise every morning, in state and in the presence of the 
whole Court. Frederick the Great was much amused by the 
accounts of these performances, and used to declare that it 
was the king's duty to go through the ceremonies by proxy. 
The room is beautifully frescoed, and is furnished with great 
richness. The bed is a curious and elegant piece of work- 
manship. Louis spent twelve years in designing the furni- 
ture of the room, and it was his greatest pride. In this 
chamber he held his levees and received the Papal Nuncio. 
After he had finished his toilette, he offered up his morning 
prayers, all these ceremonies taking place inside of the rail- 
ing which crosses the room at the foot of his bed. After this 
he repaired to the Council Chamber. The windows of this 
apartment look out upon the Marble Court, and it was from 
the balcony on which they open that Marie Antoinette faced 
the mob, in October, 1789. 

The bed-chalnber opens into the Salle de V CEil-de-Boeiif^ so 
called from the oval or bull's-eye window at one end, and the 
oval mirror at the other. This was the famous ante-room in 
which the courtier's in attendance on Louis XIV. waited. 
It was the scene of many a scandalous intrigue, and of some 
of the most interesting events of that reign. It is a beautiful 
apartment, and opens upon the Salle des Gardes du Corps, 
(Hall of the Body-Guard,) formerly occupied by the body- 
guard of the king. The latter is a plain room, but much too 
handsome for a " guard room." Communicating with it is 



760 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

the Anti-chambre du Rot, where Louis XIV. dined in state. 
On these occasions the guards were required to present arms 
to the king's food as it passed them on its way to the royal 
table. 

A special order is necessary to view the Petits Apartements 
of Marie Antoinette, which communicate with the anti-cham- 
ber of the king, and which are also connected with the Salle de 
V (Eil-de-Boeuf by a private corridor. They are very pretty, 
and remain as near as possible as the unfortunate queen ,left 
them. They are two in number, and the windows look out 




«alle de I'CEil-de-Bceuf. 

into a small court. They were occupied first by Marie 
Ther^se, and afterwards by the Duchess of Burgund}', Marie 
Leczinska, and Marie Antoinette. The other rooms generally 
included in the Pdits Apartements were occupied by Madame 
de Maintenon, and it was here, in her society, that Louis 
XIY. passed the greater part of the close of his life. He 
always wound up his day as follows: At a certain hour 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 761 

Madame cle Maintenoii had her supper, after which she was 
undressed and put to bed in the presence of the king and his 
ministers. Louis then retired and sought his own supper. 

The State apartments of the queen are shown to the pub- 
lic. The first is the Queenh bed-room^ which adjoins the 
splendid Salle de Paix. It is a handsome apartment, and 
contains many souvenirs of its last queen. Marie Theresa 
and Marie Leczinska died in this room, and Philip V. of 
Spain and Louis XV. of France were born in it. It was in 
this chamber that Marie Antoinette was sleeping when the 
mob attacked the palace before daybreak, on the sixth of 
October, 1789. She sprang from her bed in alarm, and. fled 
by a private corridor into the Scdle de V (Eil-de-Boeuf^ from 
which she passed into the Council Chamber and joined the 
king. 

The next room is the Queercs Scdooii, where her .Majesty 
held her receptions on State occasions. It was the scene of 
many a brilliant gathering in the old days of the palace. It 
opens into the Queen's Ante- Chamber, a handsome hall in 
which the Eoj^al fjimily dined on extraordinary occasions. 
At these times any well-dressed person was admitted to view 
the scene. " This Exhibition," says Madame Campan, " a 
fatiguing one for the princes, was the deli.ii;ht of the country 
people. At dinner time one could see these people, who after 
having watched the Dauphin eat his soup, went to see the 
princes drink their broth, and then hurried to see the 
princesses finish their desert." 

The next room is the Salle des Gardes^ and was occupied 
by the queen's body-guard. When the crowd broke into the 
palace, on the morning of the sixth of October, 1789, they 
made their first attack here. They thronged into the hall, 
armed with guns, sabres, and pikes, shouting, " death to the 
queen." They forced their way to the door of the queen's 
bed-room. Varicour, one of the guards, defended the door 
with his musket, but was wounded and disarmed, and dragged 
to the Place d'Armes and beheaded. Durepaire, the other 
guard, shared the same fate. Miomandre de Sainte-Marie had 



762 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

tbe presence of mind to call out to the ladies in waiting to 
save the queen. Then planting himself before the door, he 
defended it with his musket long enough to give the queen 
time to escape into the king's apartments. The mob then 
made a furious attack upon the Salle de V CEil-de-Boeuf, and 
had almost battered down the doors when a detachment of the 
National Guard arrived and drove them from the palace. 
This is the last of the State apartments, and from it you pass 
into the picture galleries and halls of the south wing. 

In the attic is a large collection of portraits of historical 
personages. It is not confined to Frenchmen, and you will 
find here a full set of the Presidents of the United States, from 
Washington to Andrew Johnson ; and your American pride 
will be more than gratified to find that they show well in 
this host of the great men of all lands. Several of the rooms 
are devoted to portraits of the Napoleon dynasty, and are 
especially interesting. 

. II. 

THE GAEDBNS. 

The gardens of the palace form an important adjunct to 
the splendid chateau, and you can scarcely appreiiiate either 
without seeing the other. The site occupied by them wa? 
originally a sandy waste, and the present gardens are entirely 
due to the genius of Le Notre. A magnificent terrace, 
several hundred feet wide, extends immediately in front of 
the building, and is adorned with statues and fountains. At 
the southern end of the terrace a majestic marble stairway 
leads to the Orangerie^ a beautiful garden of twelve hundred 
orange trees, below the level of the terrace, and surrounded 
with green houses for the safe-keeping of the trees in winter, 
and beyond the gates of this garden a fine lake and a beauti- 
ful lawn stretch away to the edge of the grounds. On the 
north, the stairs lead to a gradual slope which conducts you 
to the Basin of the Dragon and the Basin of Neptune. The 



y. 




PAKIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 763 

latter is the finest display of waters in the world. Twenty- 
two vases are arranged around the border of the basin, and 
against the side are three immense groups, representing 
Neptune, Amphitrite, Proteus and Ocean, and on each side 
of these groups is a colossal dragon bearing a Cupid on his 
back. These figures all pour out immense streams of water, 
while lofty jets are thrown from the vases on the border and 
from pipes placed at certain points in the basin. Numerous 
other fountains are scattered through the grounds, and many 
of them are ornamented with rich and beautiful groups of 
sculpture. On certain days the waters are let into these 
fountains, and the display, which is very beautiful, attracts 
large crowds from the city. 

At the west end of the terrace a flight of stone stairs leads 
down to the Ta2ns Vert and the principal part of the grounds. 
They are beautifully laid off, the shrubbery is rich and care- 
fully kept, and the trees, arching overhead, form long, cool 
alleys in which you may wander for hours on the hottest 
summer day without once seeing the sun. The sides of 
many of these alleys are formed of high walls of box or some 
other rich growth. Just below the terrace is a magnificent 
lawn surrounded by one of these green walls and overarched 
with the interwoven tree tops. It forms a complete hall, and 
is called the Ball Room, as it was the custom of the court lo 
dance here on summer evenings. On each side of the Tapis 
Vert are the Bosquets or groves, planted with trees "and laid 
out with perfect symmetry, the paths and avenues being ar- 
ranged in straight lines, and skilfully contrived, so as to 
afford vistas, points of view, etc." It is impossible to des- 
cribe them, but you may wander through them for hours, 
admiring the numerous fountains and statues with which 
they are adorned, and still you can find something new and 
worthy of admiration. Seen when the fountains are in full 
play and sending their sparkling jets high above the shrub- 
berji and the tree tops, the efiect is indeed beautiful. 



764 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

III. 

THE TRTANONS. 

From the western side of the Basin of Neptune^ a broad 
avenue, lined with stately trees, leads to the Palace of the 
Grand Trianon^ which stands near the extremity of the 
grounds. 

Louis XIY. was not altogether satisfied with Versailles, 
and soon grew weary of its pomps and splendors, and the 
vast number of courtiers, with which he had surrounded 
himself, tired him so much that he determined to build him 
a smaller palace close by, where he could sometimes go and 
be at rest. Accordingly, he bought a piece of ground from 
the parish of Trianon, and in 1688 built what is now the 
palace of the Grand Trianon. It grew in size so rapidly, 
however, that the king found his object defeated, and built 
him a gorgeous hermitage at Marly. Madame de Maintenon 
was very fond of Trianon, which was also a favorite resi- 
dence of the successors of Louis XIY., and of Napoleon I,, and 
Louis Philippe. The last king put it in thorough repair 
and built the chapel. 

It is Italian in design, and is built entirely on one floor, 
with neither basement nor attic. It is arranged in suites of 
handsome apartments, and is very interesting in consequence 
of its historical associations. Some of the State apartments 
would seem more beautiful if one had not come to them from 
the magnificent halls of Versailles. The gardens are exten- 
sive, and are regularly laid out and adorned with statues and 
fountains. 

To the left of this chateau, is the pretty palace of the Petit 
Trianon^ a handsome edifice of yellow stone, quite small and 
more like a gentleman's country residence than a Royal 
palace. Louis XY. built it to please Madame Dubarry. 
Louis XYI. gave it to Marie Antoinette, and it became fcer 
favorite residence. Much, of her wedded life was passed here 







mM 



765 



nillTllfTWWCITITIPli 




768 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 769 

where she and the lords and ladies of her court played at 
shepherds and shepherdesses. In the pretty grounds at- 
tached to the palace, she built a miniature Swiss village, and 
here she frequently came with her ladies to enjoy the mock 
rustic life which pleased her so much. The little village was 
called the Hameau^ and is still standing on the banks of the 
little lake which lies to the left of the palace. It is decidedly 
one of the most charming features of the grounds. The 
buildings are in an excellent state of preservation, and you 
can almost imagine that the long and eventful years which 
have elapsed since the fair queen tripped over the lawn with 
her jaunty hat and dainty crook, have rolled back, and that 
the tiny buildings are once more alive with noble rustics, all 
striving, half-bored and half-amused, to humor the whim of 
their then happy mistress. 

The water which supplies the fountains in the park and 
the town of Yersailles, is i^aised from the Seine at Port 
Marly, a little village on the river shore, and at the foot of 
the town of Marly, eight miles distant from Paris, and about 
half that distance from Versailles. The water-works were 
built for this purpose by Louis XIV., and were regarded as 
a wonderful piece of mechanism at the time. They were put 
in complete repair by the Emperor Napoleon III., in 1857. 

Port Marly is one of the prettiest places in the vicinity of 
Paris, and richly merits a visit for. its beautiful scenery. 
Back of the hills on which the town of Marly is built, is the 
site, still marked by a few ruins, of the splendid "herini- 
tage" which Louis XIV. built in his last years. Visitors 
rarely go there, but it is not only a beautiful site, but is full 
of interest to the student of history. The old f\iiry-like 
hermitage, where the great king made a mock of penitence 
in the arms of his two mistresses, has passed away, like his 
dynasty, and only a few broken columns mark the spot. 

49 



II, 

SEVRES. 

If you go to Saint Cloud early in the day, you may spend 
such time as you do not give to the palace and the park, in 
visiting the pretty but busy town of Sevres, which lies just at 
the foot of the wooded heights of the Imperial grounds. It 




Sfevres Porcelain Factory. 

contains only about six or seven thousand inhabitants, but 
is extensively engaged in the manufacture of shawls, cordage, 
leather, and chemicals. It has very little of the sleepy 
appearance so characteristic of French towns, but is bustling 
and active. Every one seems hard at work here, and the 
770 




771 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 773 

huge cliimneys that rise on every hand keep the air black 
with their heavy smoke. 

The establishment which renders the place so attractive 
to strangers is the Porcelain Manufactory, which is carried 
on by the Government at considerable expense to the State. 
The works are very extensive, and the materials manu- 
factured are of the finest and most costly description. They 
were established here by Louis XY., in 1755, having been 
located previous to that year at Yincennes. Up to the year 
1770, the only material manufactured at this establishment 
had been translucid china, but in that year Kaolin was dis- 
covered in France, and this furnished the means of preparing 
opaque porcelain, or pdie dure, which has since engaged the 
principal attention of the officials of the Sevres factory. The 
magnificent w^ares produced here are so well known to the 
majority of persons that a description of them is unnecessary, 
but it may be remarked that it is not only the quality of the 
material that renders them so valuable, but also, and in a 
very great measure, the exquisite paintings with which they 
are ornamented. 

The establishment consists of a museum and a number of 
workshops. The former will be shown to visitors upon the 
production of their passports, but the latter can only be seen 
by means of a special order from the director in charge. 
The halls open to the public are divided into the Magasins or 
Show Rooms, which contain specimens of the best workman- 
ship of the establishment — tea services, vases, plates, paint- 
ings on porcelain, and other articles; and the Musee Ceramique, 
a splendid collection of porcelain and pottery of every age 
and country. It was arranged by M. Alexander Brongniart, 
"commencing in 1812, for the purpose of illustrating the 
progress of the ceramic art from the manufacture of the 
rudest ware to that of the finest porcelain, and also the 
geology and chronology of the art. The collection is 
eminently of a practical character, made up of illustrative 
specimens alone, not merely of the finished works, but of the 
materials used in the manufacture in all parts of the world. 



774 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Eacli one of these, to entitle it to a place in the collection, 
must be provided with a label describing its character, 
locality, date, use, etc. This manutacture affords an eminent 
instance of the value imparted to worthless materials by skill 
and science. Single vases of Sevres china, twelve to fifteen 
inches high, have repeatedly sold for five thousand dollars." 

The process of manufacture, from the moulding of the 
rough clay to the completion of the beautiful vase, is ex- 
tremely interesting. The ofiicials of the establishment are 
polite and attentive, and take great pleasure in pointing out 
every detail to such visitors as are fortunate enough to 
procure admission to the workshops. 



III. 

SAINT CLOUD. 

You may go to Saint Cloud by the Versailles railway, by 
the omnibus, or by the pretty steamers which start from the 
Pont Eoyal when the river is open. 'Jo my miud the 
steamers afford decidedly thu pleasantest means of reaching 




Palace of St. Cloud. 



the place. They occupy about an hour in a delightful sail, 
which enables you to enjoy the beauties of the river and 
surrounding country, and they land you within a few hundred 
yards of the palace gates. 

The town of Saint Cloud lies just at the gates of Paris, 



776 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

occupying the heights on the opposite bank of the Seine, 
which overlook the Bois cle Boulogne. The town itself, 
apart from its beautiful situation, possesses nothing of any 
interest, and your whole time may be given to the palace 
and park. 

Saint Cloud derives its name from Clodoald, the grand-son 
of Clovis, who, escaping from his uncles Olotaire and Childe- 
bert, who had murdered his brothers, hid himself for a long 
time in the wood which covered the hill. A village soon 
sprang up here, and was called Nogent. Clodoald became 
the owner of the place and gave it to the Bishops of Paris, 
who made it their country seat and greatly increased its 
importance. They connected it with the Paris side of the 
river by a woodeii bridge, and surrounded it with fortifica- 
tions. It withstood an attack of the English in 1346, but 
after the battle of Poitiers was taken and sacked by them. 
In 1411 it was captured by the Armagnacs, and during the 
wars of the League was several times taken and burned. It 
survived all these disasters, however, and became, at length, a 
favorite residence of the Eoyal family. Francis I. frequently 
occupied the palace which the Bishops of Paris possessed at 
St. Cloud. Henry II. built himself an Italian Yilla here, 
and replaced the wooden bridge with one of stone, and 
Catharine de Medicis, gave many entertainments in a mansion 
belonging to Gondi, the Italian banker. It was in this 
mansion that Henry III. was assassinated by Jacques Clement. 
Henry lY. resided here at the commencement of his reign, 
and in 1658, Gondi's mansion, which had passed into other 
hands, was purchased by Louis XIV,, as a residence for his 
brother, the Duke of Orleans. Mansard and two of the 
principal architects of the time were set to work on the old 
mansion, and soon converted it into the splendid chateau of 
to-day. The gardens and park were laid out by Le Notre, 
who was greatly assisted in his magnificent design by the 
natural beauty of the scene. The chateau continued to be 
the residence of the Dukes of Orleans until 1785, when it 
became the property of the crown, being purchased from its 



PAEIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 777 

former owners by Marie Antoinette, for the sum of six mil- 
lioDs of francs. The queen made many changes in it, and 
by no means improved it. At the Eevolution it became the 
property of the nation, and it was in the Orangerie of the 
palat-e that the council of Five Hundred was in session when 
Napoleon drove out the members with the bayonets of his 
grenadiers. After his elevation to the throne, Saint Cloud 
became his favorite summer residence. He spent some happy 
years here with Josephine, and it was here also that his civil 
marriage with Marie Louise was celebrated. He made many 
changes and some improvements in the chateau. In 1814 
the palace was occupied by the Prince Schwartzenburg and 
the Allies, and in 1815 the capitulation of Paris was signed 
here. Charles X. spent much of his time at St. Cloud, 
and here signed the celebrated Ordinances which were the 
signal of his downfall, so that by a singular coincidence the 
reign of the last of the Bourbons, closed where that of the 
founder of his dynasty had begun. Louis Philippe made 
the palace his favorite summer residence, and paused here 
for a moment's rest when flying from Paris, in 1848. At 
present it is the summer residence of the Emperor Napoleon 
III. and his family. 

The palace is a large and handsome edifice ot light 
colored stone, built after Mansard's designs, and is 
adorned with Corinthian pillars and bass-reliefs. The front 
faces the grand avenue of the park, and the rear, the town of 
Saint Cloud. On the right are the flower gardens and the 
private walks of the Imperial family, and on the left the 
Cascades and jets cVeau. 

On the terrace you notice a marble vase and a stone seat, 
plain and simple both, but marking the spot where the great 
tribune of the people, Mirabeau, knelt at the feet of his con- 
quered queen and vowed to save the throne of France from 
destruction. Eoyalty could not humble him, but this one, 
sad, sweet-faced woman, appealing to him in the hour of her 
need, vanquished him with her trembling, ^^ Save v.s /" It 
was a loyal pledge, but a vain one. The mighty master had 



778 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

conjured up spirits too powerful for his control, and he went 
down before that Revolution he had done so much to inauo-u- 
rate. 

You enter the palace by a fine vestibule, richly ornamented 
and containing a statue of Mars recumbent, and pass from 
this into the Salon de Mars, a beautiful hall, adorned with 
Ionic pillars and a number of fine paintings. It opens into 
a much handsomer apartment called the Apollo Oallery, the 
gem of the palace. It was in this hall that the eldest brother 
of the present Emperor of France was baptized by Pope Pius 
yil., in 1805, and here in 1810 the marriage contract of 
Napoleon I. and Marie Louise was signed. A statue of the 
Empress Josephine once stood at the end of this gallery, in 
the place now occupied bj'- the statue of Queen Hortense, the 
mother of Napoleon III. The other State apartments are the 
Saloons of Diana, of Venus, of Mercury, and Aurora, and the 
Salon de Jeu. They are very elaborately ornamented with 
frescoes, carvings, gildings, and Gobelin tapestries. The 
chapel is a handsome hall, and is richly ornamented, and 
the library contains twelve thousand volumes. 

The private apartments are occupied by the Emperor and 
his family, and are not open to the public at any time. They 
are very interesting in consequence of having been occupied 
so much by Napoleon. The present Emperor uses the rooms 
of the founder of his dynasty, which are plain and simple. 
The apartments of the Empress are much handsomer, and 
were formerly those of Marie Antoinette, Josephine, and 
Marie Louise. 

The park is one of the finest in France. It covers an area 
of about one thousand acres. It is not so elaborately provided 
with fountains and statues as that of Versailles, but the water- 
works form a very important portion of its beauties. The 
waters first issue from a series of jets, called the Haute Cascade^ 
adorned with statues of the Seine and Marne. From this 
they descend to the second fall called the Basse Cascade, which 
ihrows them off' in a vast sheet into the canal, around which 
twelve jets d\au are arranged. The effect is very fine, 



p 
c 




77» 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 781 

and the display is next to the " Waters of Versailles" in 
point of beauty. A grand jet, some distance to the right of 
the cascade, throws its waters to the height of one hundred 
and thirty feet above the level of the basin. Being situated 
on high ground it may be seen at a long distance playing far 
above the tree-tops. 

Winding around the heights from the cascade you come at 
length, after passing through a beautiful portion of the park, 
to the brow of the hill overlooking the river. A singular 
tower stands here, and is called "The Lantern of Diogenes." 
It was built by Napoleon I., and is a copy of the Choragic 
Monument of Lysicrates, at Athens. When the Council met 
at St. Cloud, during the First Empire, a light was kept burn- 
ing in the lantern. Now it is ascended by persons wishing 
to enjoy the view from it. 

At your left is the grand avenue of the park, leading down 
to the western front of the palace, which nestles cozily in its 
thick, green woods, and in front of you is a view of surpass- 
ing beauty. You do not need the telescopes which the old 
man in charge of the little pavilion offers you for a small 
sum. It is too fine a prospect to be marred in such a manner. 
Immediately at your feet flows the Seine, disappearing to 
your right in the great city, and narrowing to a silver thread 
to your left, under the bristling guns of Fort de la Briche. 
Immediately in front of you are the wood and town of Bou 
logne, and the race-course at Longchamp, and on every hand 
a score or more of little villages, all lying betAveen the city 
and the hills which encircle the great basin. Paris lies in 
full view, glittering and sparkling in the sunlight. You can 
see the huge Arc de Triomphe looming up just beyond the 
Bois de Boulogne, and mark the green line of the Champs 
Blysees. The nneven course of the Boulevards, with the 
Madeleine and the Fortes St. Denis and St. Martin for guides, 
is easily distinguished, and beyond you see the "winged vic- 
tory" of the Bastille Column. The huge domes of the 
Pantheon ani. the Invalides, the gray towers of Notre Danie 
and the Palais de Justice, rise above the dense mass of houses, 



782 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

and to the noi'th of them you can make out the heavy out- 
line of the Tuileries and the Louvre. Palaces, monuments, 
churches, and all the noted points of the city come into view 
one after another, as you watch them. The city is very 
beautiful as seen from these heights, and harmonizes well 
with the bright green of the woods, and the pretty towns 
which dot the silver line of the Seine. 



nil ill I mill I iniiiiiiiiiiii 111 II M III III ' iV n\ E; 




784 



lY. 
SAINT GERMAIN. 

Fifteen miles to the west of Paris is the old town of 
Saint Germain-en-Laye. It has a population of about 15,000, 
and is, in most things, a dull and uninteresting place. It con- 
tains, however, an old chateau, once the dwelling of the kings 
of France, and is bordered by one of the finest forests in the 
vicinity of Paris. About the commencement of the Eleventh 
Century, King Robert erected, near the site of the present 
chateau, a monastery, which he dedicated to Saint Germain, 
and in the next century Louis le Gros erected a strong castle 
near the monastery, in which the kings of France, including 
Saint Louis, often dwelt, but both castle and monavStery were 
partially burned by the Black Prince. Charles Y., towards 
the year 1367, rebuilt the castle, which was considerably en- 
larged and improved by Francis I. As left by him, it had too 
much the appearance of a fortress to please his successor, Henry 
II., who made many changes in it, with the design of giving 
it a more modern appearance. Henry TV. also dwelt here, 
and built a new palace on the terrace overlooking the river, 
and of which nothing remains now but the pavilion which 
bears his name, but which is now used as a restaurant. "While 
he dwelt here with his queen, Marie de Medicis, he had the 
old chateau of Francis I. repaired for the use of his beautiful 
mistress, Gabrielle d'Estrees. Louis XIII. made the chateau his 
favorite residence, and it was here that the great King Louis 
XIV, was born. The old castle was very brilliant during 
the reign of the weak king, but Louis ^lY. deserted it as 
soon as the palace of Versailles was completed, because the 
50 7ti5 



786 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

view from its windows included the church of Saint Denis, 
the burial place of his race. When James II. fled from 
England, Louis gave him the castle as a place of residence, 
and here the poor but stately court of the exiled king was 
held. Louis XV. and Louis XVI. never occupied the castle, 
but converted it into a cavalry school. During the Revolu- 
tion it was the residence of private persons, and, under 
Napoleon I., became a barrack for cavalry. Under the Ees- 
tortition it was converted into a military prison, and after 
the downfall of Louis Philippe remained deserted until 1862, 
when the present Emperor commenced its restoration for the 
purpose of converting it into a Museum for Gaulish and 
Romano-Gaulish antiquities. The collection is not yet 
completed, but bids fair to be one of the most interesting 
in the world. It is open to visitors on every day except 
Monday. 

The chateau is a huge, irregular and gloomy building, but 
besides the usual State apartments, you are shown the bed- 
chamber of James II. and that of Madame de la Valliere. 
In the ceiling of the latter room is a trap, which is said to 
have been made by order of Louis XIV., to enable him to 
pay secret visits to the fair occupant of the chamber. 

The terrace commands a magnificent view of Paris and 
the valley of the Seine. This terrace is a walk or drive, a 
mile and a half long and one hundred and fifteen feet wide. 
It is supported on one side by a wall, and is shaded on the 
other by trees. Back of it is the forest, which covers an area 
of ten thousand acres, and is surrounded with a stone wall. 
It is well laid oft' with walks and drives. One may roam 
through it for days without meeting a soul, except on the 
borders nearest the terrace where, in fair weather, you will 
almost always find numbers of Parisians enjoying them- 
selves. 

The fetes which take place here every Sunday, in the 
bright summer weather, are particularly attractive, and 
enable a stranger to witness many prettj)^ customs peculiar to 
the country. 




788 



MALM AISON. 

A LITTLE way from Eueil, in the midst of some pretty 
gardens aud grounds, you will find the ChuiHiu of Malmalson^ 
once the favorite residence of the Empress Josephine. It 
was originally the property of the Monks of the Abbey of 
Saint Denis, and remained in their possession from the time 
of Charles the Bold until 1780, when it was purchased by a 
rich proprietor who built the present chateau. It was confis- 
cated and sold during the Eevolution, and a few years later 
was purchased by the beautifal Josephine. It was her favorite 
residence, and she spent large sums in improving and beauti- 
fying it. While Napoleon was Consul he passed much of 
his time here, and the chateau was the scene of those brilliant 
social gatherings which the French remember with wonder 
and regret. When the crown was placed upon her brows, 
its beautiful owner came here less frequently, but it retained 
the chief place in her affections to the last, and when the 
great conqueror who had raised her so high, cast her from 
him, it was to her beloved Malmaison that slie came to hide 
her sorrows. Here she lived in strict seclusion until her 
death, in May, 1814. The people of the surrounding countiy 
loved her dearly, for many of them were the constant recipi 
ents of her bounty and goodness. 

When Napoleon left Paris, after his return from Waterloo, 
a weary and hunted fugitive, deserted by the woman who 
should have shared his fate, he came to Malmaison where 
Ilortense was waiting to receive him. Josephine was gone, 
but the whole place was full of memories of her; aud they tell' 

789 



790 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AKD GASLIGHT. 

you here that one night the Emperor went to the grave 
where she lay and passed several hours there alone and in 
silence. What were his meditations? Did he think of the 
folly he had committed in crushing that faithful heart, whose 
love would not have been wanting to cheer him in that dark 
hour of his fate ? His visit to Malmaison was of short dura- 
tion, however. The Prussians were advancing npon Paris, 
and he was forced to depart. His farewell to the devoted 
Hortense and the attendants who had remained faithful to 
him, was painful beyond expression, but mastering his own 
emotions he entered his carriage and set out for Eochefort, 
where he confided himself to the generosity of the British 
people, only, alas, to find them his jailors. Two days after his 
departure from Malmaison, the English and Prussian troops 
occupied it, and sacked the chateau and almost destroyed the 
gardens. For many years after this the place remained de- 
serted, but was purchased in 1*^26, by a Swedish banker, who 
restored and occupied it until his death, in 1842, when it be- 
■ came the property of Queen Christina, of Spain, who sold it to 
the Emperor Napoleon III. It has been restored as far as 
i possible to the condition in whicb Napoleon I. left it, but a 
large part of the grounds which belonged to it at that time, has 
been sold since then, and is now occupied by private dwellings. 

.In 1867, during the Great Exhibition, the Empress Eugenie 
had the Chateau refurnished in the style of the Consulate, 
and with many of the articles which had belonged to Napo- 
leon and Josephine. A pleasant writer, who visited the 
place after the Empress had completed her task, thus 
describes it : 

"Everything has been restored as nearly as possible as it 
used. to be- The entrance hall is a pretty room, paved, like 
all the other rooms on the lower floor, in black and white 
marble diamonds. The first room is the dining-hall, where 
Barras used to gorge himself, and where, afterwards, Napo- 
leon used to sit down, eating in a hurry to get back to the 
library. The next room is the most important one, and 
brino-s the greatest torrent of recollections. It is the Council- 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 791 

room, so called because the Emperor always met his generals 
there. The furniture is now all newly decorated in red and 
gold, but is the same, with the exception of the covering. 
The wi'iting-table, however, has been respected, and the old 
cloth, faded, and with Napoleon's ink scratches on it, is left. 
Over the mantel is a fine bust of the Emperor as he looked 
wlien First Consul, and the sphynxes, which do duty at the 
fire-board, recall the Egyptian campaign. The ceiling is 
panelled in wonderful blue and white, and the tables and seats 
are marvellously draped. One comes next to tlie library, 
which looks out upon the garden, and from one window of 
which a rustic bridge leads to the pleasant shaded walks. 
Great care has been taken in the reproduction of tliis library, 
and one may spend a pleasant hour here, seeing something 
new each moment. As in the Council room the desk has its 
old covering, with his scratches on it, probably when the 
Emperor's other hand was in his hair, digging for ideas. 
A globe of the two hemispheres swung in its frame near 
one window, and the names of prominent Roman, Greek and 
English historians are inscribed among the frescoes of the 
ceiling. A handsome bronze statuette of the Emperor 
tracing on the map of Europe with a pair of compasses, 
stands on the old writing-desk, and elegant models of well 
knovvu Roman antiquities are placed here and there in glass 
cases. The library cases are all in walnut and green, and 
there is an immense array of maps and charts scattered 
everywhere. One peculiar feature is the great number of 
mirrors in the library. Why they were put there I cannot 
imagine. On the other side of the entrance-hall is the 
billiard-room, with its old-fashioned table and gigantic cues, 
and here are }>laced fine busts of Josephine and Napoleon. 

"Then, passing through a small ante-chamber, one arrives 
at the parlor. This, too, is cheery, and opens on the lawn; 
the furniture is tiie least bit gaudy, all in yellow and gold. 
Near one of the windows stands an embroidery fran^e, with 
an elegant piece of rose-work upon it ; and the last stitch 
ever taken on it by Josephine is marked by the needle, which 



792 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

stiil sticks in the cloth. From this room one passes into the 
art-gallery, a long, elegant hall, filled with fine paintings. It 
is built precisely like the drawing-rooms in the old English 
mansions, and is furnished with exquisite taste. Near one 
of the windows stands the harp which Josephine used to 
play, with the music-book still open before it, and on the 
stand, near by, lies her mandoline. This was the favorite 
resort of Josephine, and here, without doubt, Napoleon told 
his first tale of love. 

" Up stairs, and through an array of pretty bath and bed- 
rooms, and, tread softly, for you have arrived at the bed- 
chamber of the Empress. Over the couch fall the draperies 
of white satin, spangled with gold, and the tapestries are all 
of the richest and softest colors. The carpet sinks under 
one's feet, and the cushions, the chairs, the deep recesses of 
the windows are as luxurious as heart can wish. Crimson 
and gold is the furnishing of the whole room, in panels and 
ceiling. It is only a step from this room to the ante-chamber, 
where stands the old bureau which served Napoleon through 
all his campaigns, and where autograph letters of himself 
and Josephine are exposed in glass cases. Then we come to 
the room which is most interesting of all. Most zealously 
guarded is it by soldier attendants, and one must enter with- 
out noise. On a raised pedestal stands the simple cot-bed in 
which Napoleon died, at St. Helena ; there, too, is the great 
white wrapper which he used to wear, even the coverlet 
which was last arranged over his corpse ; and the other plat- 
form, near by, is mounted by his old camp-chair, which was 
with him in so many battle-fields, and the hundred souvenirs 
which one cannot find room to mention here. A little paint- 
ing, which is stuck in an obscure corner, merits attention 
from its drollity and original conception. It is by Steuben, 
and represents to the casual or careless observer, the seven 
cocked hats which the Emperor especially delighted in. But, 
on looking closely at the back-ground of the picture, one 
discovers the following typical etchings: Paris ; Austerlitz ; 
then the olive branch, denoting peace ; then Moscow in flames ; 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 793 

then Waterloo ; then the island of St. Helena in the distance. 
The effect is very curious, and one doesn't know whether to 
laugh or be sad on seeing the hats and the souvenirs behind 
them. Then, in cases all around the room, one sees the 
personal arms of the Emperor, the little sword wbich is al- 
ways represented in his pictures, his other swords and pistols, 
his epaulets, the watch of 'Josephine Beauharnais,' pictures 
of the ' little King of Rome, four months old,' the last slip- 
pers worn by Josephine, and hundreds of little souvenirs, 
which have been scattered far and wide for years, but have 
been collected, by Eugenie's care, from the Louvre, from 
private collections, from every possible source, to figure at 
Malmaison this once that it is to be open, and to awaken 
remembrances of Napoleon and Josephine. And you wish, 
as you go away, that it could be open every year."* 

In the church at Rueil, you will see the tombs of Josephine 
and Hortense. The former is in the dull and gloomy nave 
of the edifice, and the latter in the crypt below. 

* My Paris. By Edward King. 



YI. 
SAINT DENIS. 

The Northern Railway coaclies convey you from Paris to 
the town of Saint Denis, six miles distant. Although con- 
taining a population of nearly twenty-seven thousand, it 
possesses notliing of interest but the old Abbey-church which 
was formerly the burial place of the kings of France. 

An Abbey was founded here by King Dagobert, on the 
site which was regarded as the burial-place of St. Denis, and 
to which the Saint is said to have walked from Paris with his 
head under his arm. The church was rebuilt by the Abbot 
Suger. in 1144, but was partially destroyed by fire in 1219. 
after which it was restored to its present condition. The 
kings and queens of France were buried here frequently, 
prior to the reign of St. Louis, and regularly from his time 
until the outbreak of the Revolution. At the Restoration 
the remains of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette were placed 
here, and at his death Louis XVIII. was buried here. The 
Royal coffins were of lead, and were laid side by side in the 
vaults below. In 1793, the convention decreed that the tombs 
of the kings should be opened and the lead of the coffins 
melted into bullets for the defence of the Republic. This 
sacrilegious decree was at once carried out ; the tombs were 
broken open and the remains of the Sovereigns thrown info a 
common ditch dug outside the walls of the church. Henry 
II., and Catharine de Medicis were recognized by their robes, 
and Louis XIV. was also sufficiently well preserved for re- 
cognition, while the form of the good King Henry IV. was 
scarcely marred. They recognized the gallant soldier by his 
794 




Interior of the Church ot .^r. i'eiu 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 795 

grey moustache and pointed beard, and, though they threw 
him into tlie dituh with his children, the red caps were dofted 
to him alone. They could not forgive him for being a Bourbon, 
but they remembered that he had loved the people of Paris. 

The church is but a few minutes' walk from the station, 
and is in the form of a regular cross, consisting of a nave and 
two aisles. Much of the work is modern, and is intended to 
replace the portions worn away by time and destroyed during 
the Revolution. The interior is magnificent, and is one of 
the finest specimens of pure Gothic art in France. The side 
chapels are numerous, and are very beautiful as a rule, and 
all harmonize well with the main edifice. The choir is 
separated from the nave by a finely wrought railing, and the 
church is very rich in paintings. Many monuments and 
memorials of the Sovereigns and distinguished men and 
women of the old dynasty occupy the interior of the church, 
and add much to its beauty. One of the finest of these is the 
tomb of King Dagobert, erected by order of St. Louis. It is 
ornamented with a beautiful but curious bass-relief represent- 
ing Saint Denis rescuing the soul of Dagobert fi'om hell. 

A vast crypt supported by heavy arches with short Nor- 
man columns, underlies the church. Here is the tomb of 
Saint Louis, and all around are scattered a number of monu- 
ments which will soon be removed to the upper church. 
The crypt is the most ancient part of the present edifice, and 
probably dates from the Twelfth Century. It contains the 
vault in which the remains of the Kings were originally 
placed, and to which they were restored in 18]?. Between 
this vault and the high altar is the vault prepared by the 
present Emperor, as a burial place for the Napoleon dynasty. 

In the brief space allotted to this chapter, it is, of course, 
impossible to do more than indicate the leading objects of 
interest in this beautiful church, but a lover of antiquity 
will find ample enjoyment and food for meditation in every 
part of the sacred pile, while the beauties and historical 
memories of the place will not fail to impress even the most 
casual visitor. 



TIL 
FONTAINEBLEAU. 

You go to Fontainebleau hj the Lyons Eailway. It is a 
pretty town, thirty-six miles distant from Paris, and attracts 
throngs of visitors by its fine palace and forest. 

From the earliest times the French Kings had a hunting 
castle at Fontainebleau, but old the donjon had fallen into ruin 
by the time of Francis I. This King was so fond of the place 
that he determined to repair the castle, and include it in a 
vast ransfe of buildins-s which should constitute one of the 
finest palaces of Europe. Since then it has been so often and 
so much enlarged, that it may be said that every king who 
has ever passed a single night in it, has sought to commemo- 
rate his visit by an addition to the old pile. Henry IV. spent 
over fifty millions of francs in adorning and enlarging it, and 
the three Louis who succeeded him made considerable 
additions to it, so that the edifice of to-day is a vast irregular 
pile, handsome in some portions, unattractive in others, and 
remarkable chiefly for its immense size. Exclusive of the 
dependencies and grounds, it covers with its courts an area 
of thirteen acres. " It is composed of five courts, the Cour clu 
Oheval Blanc, the Cour de la Fontaine, the Cour du Donjon, the 
Cour des Princes, and the Cour des Cuisines, or de Henri IV., 
besides several buildings in different styles. The principal 
entrance is by the Cour du Cheval Blanc, or des Adieux, which 
is three hundred feet long by one hundred feet in depth. 
On the right rises the wing of Louis XV., a long building 
four stories high ; to the left extends the wing of Francis I., 
only one story in height, formerly appropriated by the 
796 



•Tl 



^ 



P 

o 




PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 797 

ministers of the Court. At the bottom is the grand fayade. 
In the centre is the celebrated staircase, known as the 
Escalier enfer ci Cheval, consisting of two flights of steps, and 
so called because it is in the form of a horse-shoe. It is 
also called the Escalier d'Honneur^ and was built in the reio-n 
of Louis XIII. It was on these steps that the Emperor 
Napoleon stood when he bade adieu to his faithful soldiers, 
in 1814." 

The Cour de la Fontaine (shown in our engraving) and the 
other courts, are surrounded bj ranges of fine buildings, 
some of which are beautiful. At the end of the Cour du 
Donjon stands the massive tower built by Saint Louis, and in 
the basin in front of the Fountain Court you will see a num- 
ber of carp, some of which are said to be over two hundred 
years old. 

The chateau has a most interesting history, and has been 
the scene of some tragical events. In 1539 Francis I. 
entertained the Emperor Charles Y., of Germany, here, 
during his visit to France, and the palace was resplendent 
with fetes and rejoicings. In 1602 the Marshal Biron was 
arrested here and sent to the Bastille, where he paid for his 
many treasons with his head. Christine, Queen of Sweden, 
was assigned apartments here in the wing overlooking the Cour 
des Princes^ and it was at the end of this long gallery that she 
caused her favorite, the Marquis of Monaldeschi, to be mur- 
dered almost in her very presence, in 1657. It was in this 
palace that Louis XIV. signed the Eevocation of the Edict of 
Nantes (1685); and here, in 1686, the great Condu died 
The Dauphin, the only son of Louis XV., and father of three 
kings, (Louis XVI., Louis XVIII, and Charles X.,) also died 
here, and it was commonly believed that he was poisoned. 
In 1808, Napoleon I. shut up his royal p'-isoner, Charles IV., 
of Spain, for twenty-four days in this chateau, and in 1812 
sent Pope Pius VII. to pass nearly two years of captivity 
here. In 1809 the divorce which parted Napoleon and Jose- 
phine was proclaimed liere, and in 1810 the present Emperor 
of the French was baptized in the chapel of the palace. 



798 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

Napoleon repaired here after his reverses in 1814, and on the 
8th of April, of that year, after he had signed his abdication, 
took leave of the Guard in the Cour du Cheval Blanc or des 
Adieux. 

To describe the palace accurately would require a volume. 
It is so immense, so full of historical memories, and abounds 
in so many magnificent halls and chambers, so many secret 
corridors and doors, that it is impossible to convey to the 
reader a fair idea of it in this brief chapter. 

You enter by the Horse-Slioe Stairway from the Cour des 
Adievx, and pass through tlie suite of rooms occupied once 
by the great Napoleon. You pause in the old Gahinet de 
Travail to notice the old mahogany table, worn and gashed 
with the knife of the Emperor, and on which he signed his 
abdication. You pass on through the splendid apartments, 
which once formed the prison of the Sovereign Pontift", and 
gaze into the chapel in which Louis XY. was married, and 
where Napoleon III. was baptized ; and are shown the spot 
where the Great Emperor Charles Y. slept, while tlie guest of 
Francis I. On every side of you are souvenirs of Francis I., of 
the infamous Catharine de Medicis, and of the beautiful Diana 
of Poitiers. You visit the pretty apartments of Madame de 
Maintenon, and stand on the spot where Louis recalled the 
peace-giving Edict of Nantes, and thus struck a terrible 
blow at French industry as well as at Protestantism, and 
where he opened the long " War of the Spanish Succession " 
by accepting the crown of Spain for his grand-son. You 
pause, shudderingly, on the spot once crimsoned with Monal- 
deschi's life-blood, and call up in your imagination all the 
scenes attending this fearful vengeance of that dissolute 
Queen of Sweden, who respected neither the laws of the 
land nor the court of the king, in her jealous wrath. You 
stand in the chamber of Henry IV., and peep into the chapel 
consecrated by the English martyr, Bishop Thomas a Becket, 
during his temporary exile in France. 

You wonder at the magnificence of the gorgeous State 
apartments, and may pass hours in roaming through them 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 799 

and admiring their beauty. "Thanks to Louis Philippe, in 
Fontainebleau everything is revived ; the tottering founda- 
tions are again settled, the staircases crushed by so many pass- 
ing grandeurs are re-established upon their bases, the statues 
lying upon the ground again ascend their pedestals, the por- 
traits return into their frames, the old plaster of the saloons 
is driven away like dust, and behind this ignoble coat re- 
appear, in their new brilliancy, the chefs d'ceuvre of three cen- 
turies. It is done, the restoration of the monument is com- 
plete." Just as the old halls appeared in the long years that 
have passed since the graceful Francis trod them, they exist 
to-day. Could the great monarchs that once reigned here, the 
proud gentlemen and beautiful women who once made the 
place so brilliant, come back again, they would have no diffi- 
culty in recognizing the localities to which they were accus- 
tomed. Sit down in the deep recess of one of these old 
windows, and recall them all. See the courtly Francis pre- 
siding at his brilliant fetes, and playing host to the thoughtful 
Emperor Charles ; see the infamous Catharine, dark and 
suspicious, chilling the hearts of the courtiers, who hated her 
in the midst of their sj'-cophancy ; see the good Henry IV., 
stroking his grizzled moustache, and smiling at Sully, who 
chides him for his extravagance ; see the weak minded Louis 
XIIL, striving to shake off the control of Eichelieu, and then 
yielding more fully to it, convinced of his own incapacity to 
rule ; see his greater son, coming here once a j^ear, and shar- 
ing his time between his duties of State and his attentions to 
his mistresses; see his more dissolute and less fortunate suc- 
cessor Louis XV., a slave to his passions, and the weak tool 
of a Pompadour and a Dubarry ; see the ill fated Louis XVI., 
who flitted through the palace for a brief moment on his way 
to his doom, leaving behind nothing to connect his name with 
the old pile but the locks which close the doors of Napoleon's 
cabinet; see the venerable Pontiff, waiting patiently in his 
splendid prison till such time as Heaven should be pleased to 
release him ; and, last of all, see the conquered man of des- 
tiny, standing on the worn stairway to bid adieu to the men 



800 PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 

■who had conquered the world for him, his voice broken and 
unsteady, and almost drowned in the sobs of these men whom 
no danger could appall nor trial daunt. Could you come 
here at midnight, that solemn hour of shadows, you might 
indeed see them all, and what a gathering it would be ! 

For many years after the downfall of Napoleon I., the palace 
was deserted, but since its restoration by Louis Philippe it 
has been one of the residences of the Sovereign. The habits 
of the Emperor and Empress when residing here, are thus 
described in a recent letter : 

" The Emperor rises very early, as indeed is his habit 
everywhere. By eight o'clock he has got through a certain 
amount of Governmental business and settled more than one 
important affair. It is only after occupying himself with 
these State matters that he retires to inspect his flowers ; he 
is extremely fond of his plants, and waters them himself. 
The Empress is not so matutinal; she seldom rises until half- 
past seven. It is well known that at Fontainebleau, her 
Majesty occupies Marie Antoinette's apartments, where she 
is surrounded bj^' many of the belongings of that unfortunate 
queen. Her bed, which is gilded, at one time belonged to 
Madame Dubarry ; afterwards the Dauphine had it, and she 
retained it after she became queen ; and ultimately it was re- 
moved to Fontainebleau, where it remains stationary. At 
twelve o'clock the Emperor and Empress breakfast; when 
their Majesties are at the Tuileries they are usually tete-a- 
tete, but at Fontainebleau all the principal officers and ladies 
of the household join the Imperial breakfast table. When 
the repast is concluded, the Emperor takes a turn or two in 
the garden, and then retires to his study for hard work. The 
Council of Ministers, who assemble in Paris at one o'clock, 
do not meet at Fontainebleau until four. At seven o'clock 
dinner is announced ; the household assembles at it, and 
generally some guests are invited from Paris. Dinner over, 
the company meet again in the Emperor's apartments after a 
stroll in the park. The Emperor retires early, between half- 
past nine and ten. But the Empress rarely bids good night 
before eleven. " 



o 

p 




»r| 




801 



PARIS BY SUNLIGHT AND GASLIGHT. 803 

The gardens were laid out by Le Notre, and are very elab- 
orate. They consist of a Parterre^ in the style of Louis XIV., 
in the centre of which is a fine fountain in the midst of a 
pretty basin ; the English Garden^ near the Fc^untain Court, 
which was added in 1812 ; the Garden of the Orangery^ upon 
which the apartments of Napoleon I. look out ; and the Parh, 
a heavil}^- wooded enclosure of two hundred acres. The 
groiinds are handsome and the shubbery is well kept. There 
are walks and alleys innumerable in the Parity which very 
closely resembles those of Versailles, and this portion of the 
grounds contains a magnificent cascade, which supplies a 
canal over a mile in length. This was the work of Henry 
IV., and is called after him. 

Just beyond the town is the magnificent Forest of Fontaine- 
hieau, covering an area of forty-two thousand acres, and hav- 
ing a boundary line sixty miles in length. It is one of the 
finest forests in France. The soi,l is sandy, and is traversed 
by eight or ten chains of rocks which give a constant diversity 
and picturesqueness to the scenery. You may wander for 
days under the old trees, where the branches are so thick that 
you can scarcely see the sun, and you will not be apt to meet 
a human being. You will find cozy nooks and lovely glens, 
bold, overhanging rocks, and long stretches of stony, broken 
ground, you may rest under the massive oaks which were 
aged in the days of Francis I. ; you may climb up to the 
" Emperor's Fort," and command a view of the whole wood, 
witli Paris shining in the far distance, if the day be bright 
and clear enough ; you may listen to the constant dripping of 
the "Weeping Eock," whose silvery tears are never dried; 
jfou may wander down into the caves which a century ago 
formed the inaccessible dens of robbers; you may lie for 
hours on the soft, green grass and listen to the sighing of the 
winds through the grand old trees; you may spend whole 
days in investigating the beauties and the mysteries of the 
great wood, and you will come away at the end of your re- 
searches with a longing, half-satisfied feeling. You have 
seen only enough to make you eager to repeat the visit. 



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this sect has succeeded in spite of all opposition, until it is to-day the standing reproach 
of our country. 

Several works have appeared, purporting to be exposures of the secret rites and myste- 
ries of this strange sect, but none have been complete, and few authentic. At present the 
demand for a work of this kind is greatly increased by the determination of the General 
Government to put in force active and decisive measures against those people who calling 
themselves Saints have violated every law of God and man. 

The Author's long residence in Utah; his position as editor of the leading journal of 
that Territory; his spirited defence of the cause of morality against Mormon treason and 
licentiousness, and his own sufferings at their hands, peculiarly qualify him for this task. 
Mormonism has been productive of so many dark and strange mysteries — so many terrible 
crimes thnt few can comprehend, without an intimate knowledge of it, how much wicked- 
ness it has to answer for, and what a standing menace to order and society it is, 

THE ■WOE-IC TS,E.A.TS OIF 
Mormonism ; its origin and history, and shows how, founded on imposture, it has grown 
by deceit and crime. It shows how Joe Smith was enabled to deceive and chent his 
followers; how by leading them on from crime to crime, and enticing them with licen- 
tious baits, he succeeded in maintaining his influence over them. 
Of crime and laivlessness in Utah ; showing the Mormon leaders in their true light, as 
thieves, murderers and assassins; how human life is every day taken in Utah ; explain- 
ing and illustrating the infamous doctrine of killing a man to save his soul ; and pre- 
senting a catalogue of crimes and horrors at which even the coolest and calmest reader 
will turn pale. It tells of frightful massacres of whole trains of emigrants, how they are 
murdered for their property, and how that property thus obtained, is seen daily in the 
possession of the Mormon leaders. 
Of the Mormon religion, its infamous and heathenish character, its multitude of gods, its 
abominable doctrines and practices, revealing many strange mysteries and outrageous 
ceremonies. 
Of the Endowment or initiation ceremonies, showing liow obscene and disgusting they are; 
how female modesty is outraged in them, and how licentiousness is taught as a part o'f 
their religious creed. 
Of the spiritual wife doctrine, showing how a woman may have more than one living hus- 
band and accord to each the same privileges ; how women are debauched and degraded; 
how they are required to prostitute themselves "for religion's sake;" showing the terri- 
ble results of polygamy and sin. 

The high praise which this work has received from members of Congress, and Govern- 
ment officials to whom it was submitted, and by whom its publication was urged iis a duty 
to the country, stamps it as no ordinary work, but as one of the most jiowerful and thrilling 
books ever published. It is comprised in one large octavo volume of 540 pages, illustrated 
and embellished with 34 fine engravings, and furnished to subscribers. 

Elegantly bound in Extra Fine English Cloth, - at $2.75 per Copy. 
" " Fino Leather, (Library Style,) at $3.25 " '' 

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NEW ILLUSTRATED 

DEVOTIONAL AND PRACTICAL 

POLYGLOT FAMILY B"^ 

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ture Illustrations, Valuable Treatises, ClirojioJogical and otlier 

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Study of tlie Bible. 




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The Marginal Readings and References, the Definitions and Explanations, 
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Ministers, Theological Students and Sunday-School Teachers. 

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New Milford, Susquehanna County, Pa. 

September, nth, 1869. 
NATIONAL PUBLISHING CO., 

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SECRETS OF TBE GREAT CITY. 

A WORK DESCRIPTIVE OF THE VIRTUES AND THE VICES, 

THE MYSTERIES, MISERIES AND CRIMES, 

OF NEW YORK CITY. 

By EDWARD WINSLOW MARTIN. 



ILLUSTRATED WITH 35 FIUTE EUTGRAVIlirGS. 



PUBLISHED IN BOTH ENGLISH AND GERMAN 

The author of this work needs no endorsement; his long residence in New York, and intimate 
acquaintance with Metropolitan life in all its varied phases, peculiarly fit him for the preparation of 
such a work. 

It Tells How Fortunes are Made and Lost in a Day. 
How Shrewd Men are Ruined in Wall Street. 
How Strangers are Swindled by Sharpers. 
How Ministers and Merchants are Black-Mailed. 
How Dance Halls and Concert Saloons are Managed. 
How Gambling Houses and Lotteries are Conducted. 
How Stock and Oil Companies Originate and how the Bubbles 
Burst. 

Of New York, its People, its Society, its Rich, its Poor, their life, their habits, their haunts and their 
peculiarities. 

Of Churches, Theatres, Prisons, Streets, Palaces, Hovels, Tenement Houses, Rail Roads, Shipping, 
Steamers, Ferries, Docks, Sewers, Armories, Station-Houses, Hospitals, Markets, Banks, Newspa- 
pers, Schools and Public Buildings. 

Of Editors, Judges, Lawyers, Bankers, Brokers, Merchants, Mechanics, Ministers, Teachers, Sewing-Girls, 
Marketmen, and Women, Laborers and Long-Shore-Men. 

Of Policemen, Detectives, Soldiers, Sailors, Firemen, News-Boys, Vagrants, Thieves, Dead-Beats, Beggars, 

Swindlers, Gamblers, and the Demi-Monde. 
Of Hotels, Restaurants, Boarding-Houses, Saloons, Beer Gardens, Groggeries, Sample-Rooms, Club and 

Dance Houses. 
Of Mission-Houses, Public Charities, Asylunvs, Bead-Housos, and Burial Places. 
Of Fifth Avenue, Broadway, the Bowery, Chatham Street, the Five Points, Wall Street, Central Park, 

the Battery, Castle Garden and its Emigrants. 
Of Pawn-Brokers, Roughs, Bohemians, Fortune-Tellers, Clairvoyants, Quacks, "Retired Physicians," 

Gift Enterprises, and of concerns where greenbacJcs are advertised as given away and sent free ie 

applicants, and of Humbugs. 
Of THE "Wickedest Man" and "Wickedest Woman" in New York. 

Of Matrimonial Brokers — the Cliild-adopting System, Tast Horses, Fast Men and Fast Women. 
Of Political Rings, Race-Course Pools and Wall Street Corners. 
Of all that ia great, noble, generous, vicious, mysterious, brilliant, startling, genteel or shabby, and all 

that is interesting aud worthy of record in tlie great City. 
As the Metropolitan Centre of the United States, New York City reflects all the pood and evil of the 
' land in their most intense forms. There is no man, however often he maj' have visited New York, who 
cannot learn from this work much regarding that great city and its many and miglity interests. 

This book will be found especially valuable to those who expect to visit New York and would shun 
its pitfalls, by studying it in their own homes, without cost or danger, and yet learn all. 

In one large volume of 552 pages, embellished and illustrated with 35 fine engravings, and furnished 
to subscribers 

Bound in Fine Solferino Cloth, in English or Q-erman at 82.75 per Copy. 

Bound in Fine Leather, (Library Style,) English or German... at $3.25 " 

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Philadelpliia, Pa., Chicago, 111., St. Louis, Mo., Boston, Mass., or Atlanta, Ga. 



El 



AND HOW THEY LIVED, FOUGHT, AND DIED FOR THE UNION. 

With Scenes and Incidents in the Great Rebellion. 

COMPRISING NARRATIVES OK PERSONAL ADVENTQRE, TIIRILLING INCIDENTS, DARING 

EXPLOITS, HEROIC DEEDS, WONDERFUL ESCAPES, LIFE IN THE CAMP, FIELD 

AND HOSPITAL, AUVENTURES OF SPIES AND SCOUTS, TOGETHER WITH THE 

SONGS, BALLADS, ANECDOTES, AND HUMOROUS INCIDENTS OF THE WAR. 



SpleMiy niiistratedfltti oyer 100 Jiie Portraits M Beantlffl Immm 

There is a certain portion of the War that will never go into the regnlai 
histories, nor be embodied in romance or poetry, which is a very real part of 
it, and will, if preserved, convey to succeeding generations, a better idea of 
the spirit of the conflict than many dry reports or careful narratives of events ; 
and this part may be called the Gossip, tlie Fun, the Pathos of the War. This 
illustrates the character of the leaders, the humor of the soldiers, the devotion 
of women, the bravery of men, the pluck of our heroes, the romance and hard- 
ships of the service. 

From the beginning of the War the author has been engaged in collecting all 
the anecdotes connected with or illusti-ative of it, and has grouped and classi- 
fied them under appropriate heads, and in a very attractive form. 

Prominent among the sparkling contents of this work, and which give to 
its four departments their peculiar attractiveness, may be named : — Striking 
instances of loyalty to the flag and valor in its defence ; Bravery on the Battle 
Field and Quarter Deck; Examples of Youthful Courage in the storm of 
combat ; Infantry, Artillery, and Cavalry in line of action — the tramp and 
onset ; Extraordinary fortitude under suS'ering ; Undaunted heroism in death ; 
the roll of fame and story. Reminiscence of Victory and Disaster ; of 
Camp, Picket, Spy, Scout, Bivouac, and Siege, with feats of Daring ; Bold 
and Brilliant Marches ; Remarkable cases of Sharp Shooting ; Hand-to-hand 
encounters; Startling Surprises; Ingenious strategy; Celelorated tactics; 
Wonderful Escapes ; Comical and Ludicrous Adventures on Land and Sea ; 
Wit, Drollery, and Repartee ; Famous Words and Deeds of Women. Sanitary 
and Hospital Scenes; Prison Experiences; Partings and Re-unions; Last 
Words of the Dying, with touching illustrations of the home aff'ections and 
mementoes of the tender passion ; Final Scenes and events in the great 
Drama — and all those momentous hours, acts, and movements, the memory 
of which will live in letters of blood before the eyes, and burn like fire in the 
hearts of those who participated in them — these sifited like gold, are here pre- 
sented in all tiieir attractions. Thus the Rank and File, as Avell as the Superior 
Officers, both North and South, are made illustrious in these pages by what- 
ever of valor, skill, or achievement personally distinguished them. 

Amusement as well as instruction may be found in every page, as graphic 
detail, brilliant wit, and authentic history are skilfully interwoven in this work 
of literary art. 

In one large volume of over 500 pages, splendidly illustrated with over 100 
fine portraits and beautiful engravings, and furnislied to subscribers, 

Hound in Ejitra Fine Jilite Cloth at $2./>0 j>cr Cojii/, 

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i^iw mo) Emimm^ Emimw 



OP 



BEYOND THE MISSISSIPPI 

A Complete History of the New States and Territories 
from the Great River to the Great Ocean. 

Life and Adventure on Prairies, Mountains and the Pacific Coast. With over 

Two Hundred Descriptive and Photographic Views of the Scenery, Cities, 

Lands, Mines, People and Curiosities of the Great West. 

By albert D. RICHARDSON, 

Author of "Field, Duugeon, and Escape," etc. 

The Author's long and varied experience in the hitlierto little kno\i-n and interesting regions of the 
Far West, furnishes the valuable material for this Vi'oi'k : 

These New States and Territories contain iiicnmparably the grandest scenery in the world, and the 
richest resources of the American Continent. Probably no other man has spent so much time, or jour- 
neyed so extensively among them, as Mr. Kichardson— certainly no one so competent to describe what 
he has seen. 

|Cj=To prospective emigrants and settlers in the " Far West," this History of that vast and fertile 
region will prove an invaluable assistance, supplying, as it does, a want long felt of a full, authentic 
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AN ILLUSTRATED WORK, ENTITLED 

MOSES k W PROPHETS, CHRIST & THE APOSTLES 



Containing an A ccQunt of the Patriarchs and Prophets ; the Scenes of their Labors ; Style of their Writingi , 
Character of their Prophecies ; and the Time and Planner of their Deaths. The Life of Olirist ; Bis 
Teachings, Miracles; the Circumstances of His Death, Resurrection and Ascension; the 
Lives and Labors of the Apostles, His Chosen Ones to Spread the Gospel Abroad; 
Interesting Incidents of Ute Primitive Fathers ; their Zeal and Self- 
denial in the Establishment of Religious Institutions ; and 
the History of many who suffered Martyrdom for 
their Devotion to the Cause of Truth. 

B"Z" J". E. STIEIB-BIISrS. 

This Work is Illustrated with eighteen fine Steel Plate Engravings, and a map of the world as 
known to tho ancients and sacred writers. Comprised in one large royal octavo volume of over six 
hundred pages, and substantially bound and delivered to subscribers at the following prices: 

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THE 



SECRET HISTORY 

OP THE 

REBELLION, 

FROM 

'' BEHIND THE SCENES IN BICHMONH.'' 

CONTAINING 

CURIOUS AND EXTRAORDINARY INFORMATION OF THE PRINCIPAL 

SOUTHERN CHARACTERS IN THE LATE WAR, IN CONNECTION 

WITH JEFFERSOIf- DAVIS, AND IN RELATION TO THE 

VARIOUS INTRIGUES OF HIS ADMINISTRATION. 

By EDWARD A. POLLARD. 

AxiUtor of the "JLost Cause," Etc., Etc, 



** It was a most re^narTcable singularity of the Southern Con- 
federacy, that, though holding out to the world the forms of 
republican government, it was as closely veiled in its operations, 
as secret and recluse as the most absolute and arrogant 
(lesj)ofisin. " 

• • « « » ■ 

The Astounding Eevelations and Startling Disclosures, 
made in this work, are creating the most intense desire in the 
minds of the people to obtain it. The Secret Political In- 
trigues, ETC., of Davis and other Confederate Leaders, with the 
Hidden Mysteries from "Behind the Scenes in Eichmond," 
are thoroughly ventilated. 

The a.ithor's well-known confidential and intimate relations with Mr. 
Davis and his Cabinet, and his opportunities as a journalist in Richmond, 
during the war, enable him to divulge a mass of curious and extraordinary 
information whicli he has possessed, concerning the private. and interior 
history of the Rebellion. 

Ig^ At the close of the review of the book, nearly four columns long, 
the JVew York Tribunesiiy» : — " In all tliat we have quoted, we have strong 
extraneous reasons to believe that he (Mr. Pollard) speaks the truth." 

This remarkable work is comprised in one large octavo volume of 536 
pages, and furnished to subscribers, 

Elegantly Bound in Extra Fine English Cloth, - - at $2.75 per Copy. 
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Paris by Sunlight and Gaslight. 

A WORK DESCRIPTIVE OF THE MYSTERIES AND MISERIES, 

THE VIRTUES, VICES, SPLENDORS, AND CRIMES 

OF THE CITY OF PARIS. 



ILLUSTRATED WITH OVER 150 FINE Ef^GRAVINGS. 



It may be safely asserted that every man and woman in the world would like 
to visit the beautiful and wokderful City of Paris, were an opportunity 
offered. Thousands annually find their way to the gay city, to taste it's 
jileasures and enjoy its unequalled displays, but these are only a very small 
]")art of the millions who. long for such a privilege. Naturally most persons 
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It Tells How Paris has become the Gayest and most Beautiful 

City in the World. 
How its Beauty and Splendor are purchased, at a Fearful Cost of 

Misery and Suffering. 
How Virtue and Vice go arm-in-arm in the Beautiful City. 
How Visitors are Swindled by Professional Adventurers. 
How the most Fearful Crimes are Committed and Concealed. 
How Money is Squandered in Useless Luxury. 

Of Pnris, its People, its Society, its Rich, its Poor; their Lives, their Habits, their Haunts, 

and their Peculiarities. 
Of the Magnificent Public Buildings of the City, with their countless treasures of art and 

history. 
Of Palaces, Prisons, Statues, Paintings, Fortifications, Gardens and Parks. 
Of the Emperor and Empress of the French ; their Public and Private Life ; with many 

Startling and Curious Reminiscences of the Domestic Life of Napoleon and Eugenie ; 

introducing the Story of the Emperor and the Italian Countess. 
Of the Nobility; their vast Wealth and Influence; their Virtues and Vices; showing how 

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some of the means resorted to for concealing their crimes. 
Of Suicides; of the Morgue and its inmates; Revealing many a Terrible History of Pov- 
erty, Love, and Crime. 
Of the Grisettes of Paris ; their History; their Follies and Extravagances; their Loves 

and Lovers ; their Jealousies and Revenges. 
Of Fashion, Luxury, Dissipation, and Extravagance in Paris. 
Of the Famous Balls of Paris ; of Jardin llabille ; Cloaerie des Lilas ; of the Carnival ; its 

' Masquerades and Revelries. 
Of the Tuileries, the Louvre, Versailles, St. Cloud, Fontainebleau, and St. Germain. 
Of the Catacombs ; — those Wonderful Cities of the Dead that underlie the Gay Capital of 

Prance. 
Of the Deini-Monde, with Sketches of its Famous Characters. 

Of Swindlers, Gamblers, Thieves, Adventurers, Beggars, Street Characters, Ac, <tc. 
Of all that is great, noble, generous, magnificent, vicious, brilliant, startling, genteel or 

shabby, and of all that is interesting and worthy of notice in the Beautiful City. 
In one large volume of over 800 pages, embellished and illustrated with more than 150 
lino Engravings of noted places, life and scenes in Paris, and furnished to Subscribers 

Elegantly Bound in Fine Morocco Cloth at $3.50 per Copy 

Leather, (Library Style.) at $4.00 

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